THE   STANIFORDS 


OF 


STANIFORD'S  FOLLY. 

A  Story  of  Winged  and  Wingless  Richet 


By  MRS.  E.  D.  KENDALL. 

Author  of  "  Master  and  Pupil,"  "The  Judge's  Sons, "  i 


BOSTON 
D    L  O  T  H  H  O  P    CO  M  P  A  X  Y 

FUAXKU.V    AXI>    n.4 \VfKV    .-TJ.TKT.S 


<UNIf .  OF  CALIF.  LIBBA&Y*  LOS 


Entered,  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  187% 

BY  D.  LOTHROP  &  CO., 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress  at  Washington, 


CONTENTS. 

Chap.  Page 

T.      "SICK,   AND  YE  VISITED  ME,"  6 

II.      A  "LIBERAL  REWARD,"  -  -24 

HI.      THE   FAIRY,  -  37 

IV.  TWENTY-ONE,       -----  53 

V.  BLESSED  ARE  THE  COMFORTERS,   -  -  73 
VT.      NEW  HOMES,                                              -  -  99 
VH.      A  STORM  AT  STANIFORD'S  FOLLY,  -  132 

vni.    THE  CHILDREN'S  PICNIC,   -  -  148 

IX.      MOLLY  AND  JOHNNY  MEET  PEARL,  -  177 

(3) 


2130901 


4  Contents. 

X.  JOHNNY  CONFIDES  IN  THE  DOCTOR,       -  200 

XI.  THE  RESCUE,        -  -  230 
XH.      THE   "ROOT  OP  ALL  EVIL,"  -  263 
XHI.      HOME  AGAIN,    -  -  283 

XIV.  FAREWELL,         -  -  313 

XV.  PARTING  GLIMPSES,    -          -  -          -  321 


The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

CHAPTER   I. 

"SICK,   AND  YE  VISITED  MB."    . 

"  Molly  put  the  kettle  on, 
And  we'll  all  take  tea  ; " 

i 

*ANG  irrepressible   Johnny  Forbes,  as  he 

came  stamping  into  the  kitchen,  the 
muddy  snow  dropping  from  his  boot-heels 
at  every  step,  and  melting  into  little  dirty 
puddles  upon  Molly's  clean  floor.  "  Why,  you 
haven't  got  the  table  set !  and  I'm  hungry  as  — 
as  three  bears  and  a  hyena !  Do  give  a  fellow 
something  to  eat,  —  won't  you  ?  " 

(5) 


6  The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  No !  "  replied  Molly,  sententious!/.  "  Not 
till  I  get  ready." 

"  Well,  you  needn't  snap  out  so,"  retorted 
Johnny. 

"  Anybody'd  snap  out,  I  guess,  to  have  a 
great  boy  come  tramping  in  without  wiping  his 
feet,  and  making  noise  enough  for  Independence 
Day,  when  mother's  so  sick  and  nervous." 

"  Oh  dear  !  —  well,  it  is  too  bad,"  returned 
Johnny,  penitently,  "  and  I  forgot.  Is  mother 
any  worse  ?  I  won't  do  so  any  more,  Molly. 
And  just  hand  me  the  dust-pan  and  brush,  and 
I'll  sweep  up  every  bit  of  snow  I've  left  behind 
me.  Come,  now,  don't  look  so  savage,  or  I'll 
tickle  you, —  see  if  I  don't!  "  and  he  made  a 
feint  as  though  he  were  about  to  carry  out  his 
threat. 

Molly  screamed. 

"  There,  now,  who  made  the  biggest  noise,  I 


*,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  7 

should  like  to  know  ? "  demanded  Johnny. 
"  And  I  never  touched  you,  not  even  with  my 
little  finger,"  —  diving  at  her  again. 

"  Stop  that ! "  and  Molly  gave  a  second 
scream. 

"  Stop  what  ?  I  was  only  pointing  at  you." 

"  Stop  making  believe  tickle  me,  or  I'll  tell 
mother." 

"  Hurry  up  with  the  dust-pan,  then,  and  don't 
stand  there  howling." 

"  I  won't  be  ordered,"  rejoined  Molly.  "  You 
get  it  yourself." 

"  Then  /  won't  be  ordered,  neither.  Say 
*  please,'  or  I'll  hug  you  like  the  picture  of  the 
boa  constrictor  hugging  another  kind  of  a  '  deer  ' 
in  my  geography  book.  Quick !  I'm  bound  to 
maul-y-fy  you  if  you  don't." 

"  You  shan't  '  Molly-fry '  her,"  interposed 
little  brown-eyed  Lizzie.  "  She  behaves  a  great 


8  The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  FoUy. 

deal  '  betterer '  than  you  do,  John  Forbes.     She's 
a  good  girl." 

"  You  don't  say  so,  now  !  Come  here,  midge. 
I've  got  something  for  you." 

"What  is  it?" 

.  "  Oh,  something  I  found  to-day.     It  was  half 
buried  in  the  snow,  on  the  side  of  the  street." 

"  Is  it  good  to  eat  ?  " 

"  Not  much.  That  isn't  the  place  to  look  for 
eatables.  It's  pretty,  though." 

"  Let  me  see  it,"  said  Molly. 

"  Oh !  get  out  with  you !  I  don't  want  so 
many  girls  bothering  me.  No.  On  the  whole, 
I'll  show  it  to  mother  first.  You  just  get  supper 
ready,  Molly,  if  you  don't,  I'll  eat  you" 

After  all,  Johnny  opened  the  door  more  gently 
than  one  would  have  expected,  thoughtless  boy 
that  he  was,  and  closed  it  carefully  behind  him. 

"  Why,  mother  I    you're  cold  here,"  he  said. 


"Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  9 

"  There  isn't  half  fire  enough.  And  you've  been 
crying.  What's  the  matter  ?"and  he  knelt  down 
and  stole  an  arm  about  her  waist,  as  she  sat 
shivering  in  the  old-fashioned  easy-chair  by  the 
grate,  out  of  which  the  wood-coals  were  drop- 
ping and  dying  among  the  ashes. 

"  Poor  mother  !  how  thin  your  hands  are ! "  he 
went  on.  "  And  you're  not  so  well,  to-day,  I'm 
afraid.  Did  I  make  your  head  ache  with  my 
noise,  coming  in?  I  believe  I  never  shall 
remember  to  be  quiet.  But  I  don't  mean  to 
trouble  you." 

"  I  know  it,  Johnny,"  she  said,  her  fingers,  so 
white  and  shadowy,  straying  hi  among  his  thick, 
clustering  brown  curls.  "But  you  mustn't  tease 
Molly.  You  children  must  be  good  to  each 
other.  By-and-by  "  —  and  then  her  voice  broke, 
and  a  tear  fell  upon  Johnny's  upturned  face. 

It  went  right  to  his  heart,  and  springing  up  he 
covered  her  cheeks  with  kisses. 


10         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford1  8  Folly* 

**  Ah,  mother  I  I'm  sorry  it  was  I  who  made 
you  cry.  I  know  I'm  ugly,  and  disobedient,  and 
forgetful,  and  all  that.  But  I  love  you,  and 
Molly,  and  Sis.  I  do  love  you,  mother  !  and  I 
hate  myself  for  not  being  a  better  boy.  I  often 
wish  I  was  somebody  else.  I've  even  wished  I 
was  a  girl,  sometimes  ;  for  I  don't  think  girls  are 
half  as  much  trouble  as  boys,  and  Molly  is  a 
great  deal  better  than  I  am.  I  wish  we  were 
rich,  too,  like  the  Stanifords.  Wouldn't  I  give 
you  a  sleigh-ride,  though,  to-morrow  ?  —  in  as 
handsome  a  cutter,  and  behind  as  fast  a  horse  as 
old  Nahum  drives." 


"What  say,  mother?" 

**  *  Old  Nahum  ?  '  Is  that  the  way  to  speak  of 
Mr.  Staniford  ?  " 

"  Why  —  no  ;     I     suppose      not  —  exactly 
Though,  mother,  it's  what  everybody  calls  him." 


"Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  11 

"  Did  you  ever  hear  me  call  him  so,  my  boy  ?  " 
"  Why,  no.     Of  course  not.     But  that's   the 
way  the  men  speak  of  him." 

"  When  you  are  a  man,  Johnny,  I  hope  you 
will  be  a  gentleman,  as  well.  Your  father  was, 
though  a  sea-captain.  And  while  you  are  a  boy, 
let  your  language,  whether  in  mentioning  or 
addressing  other  people  older  than  yourself — 
out  of  deference  to  their  years,  if  not  to  their 
character  —  be  always  respectful.  One  of  these 
days,  darling  —  I'm  afraid,  too,  that  the  time  is 
nearer  than  my  children  think,  —  you  will  be  — 
alone  in  the  world.  Mother  will  be  lying,  —  like 
father,  —  under  the  sod.  Oh  !  Johnny  !  "  she 
burst  out,  "  Promise  me  — promise  me,  that  you 
will  grow  up  a  good  man !  How  I  have  prayed 
for  you,  dear  !  —  for  you  all !  but  most  for  you, 
because  I  know  how  many  more  temptations  will 
lie  in  your  pathway.  You  are  so  impulsive  !  — 


12         The  Stamfords  of 'Stamford'*  Folly. 

so  thoughtless  of  consequences  !  —  so  easily  led ! 
And  I  must  leave  you.  Oh,  it  seems  so  hard, 
sometimes  I  can  scarcely  frame  my  lips  to  say 
'  Thy  will  be  done  ! '  for  I  shall  soon  be  only  a 
Memory  to  my  children,  and  even  that  will  grow 
dimmer  and  dimmer  as  the  years  roll  on.  While 
I  am  a  Presence,  though  only  the  poor,  sick, 
shadowy  one  you  fondle,  yet  I  know  that  you 
love  me,  and  that  my  wishes  do  have  then* 
weight  with  you.  But  Johnny,  when  I  am  gone, 
—  I'm  afraid  you'll  forget  —  mother's  words  of 
counsel  and  warning,  —  and  fall  into  temptation 
and  sin.  Not  deliberately,  —  my  boy  is  not 
vicious,  —  thauk  God  for  that !  —  but  weakly. 
You  little  guess,  my  darling,  how  many  times  a 
day  you  say  *  I  didn't  mean  to,'  and  you  try  to 
think  that  your  not  intending  to  do  wrong 
partially  excuses  you.  How  I  wish  I  could  make 
you  see  that  moral  weakness  is  a  crime !  since 


«&ick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  13 

God  never  suffers  us  to  be  tempted '  above  that  we 
are  able,'  but  gives  us  a  way,  through  prayer  and 
trust  in  him,  out  of  most  alluring  dangers.  Like 
Lot  turning  his  back  upon  Sodom,  we  must  turn 
our  backs  upon  sinful  desires,  and  press  forward, 
never  looking  behind  us.  Dear  Johnny  !  how 
my  heart  clings  to  you  !  And  yet  —  and  yet  —  " 
she  soliloquized,  "  what  can  a  mother's  love  do, 
after  all,  for  her  child,  unless  God  aid  her 
endeavors  I  And  is  he  not  all-powerful,  and  an 
answerer  of  mothers'  prayers !  —  I  believe  in 
him.  I  trust  him.  Johnny!" — affectionately 
caressing  him,  and  looking  earnestly  into  his 
tear-dimmed  brown  eyes,"J&w0w>  —  that  the  good 
in  you  will  triumph  over  the  evil.  Grod  will 
never  forswear  himself" 

She  shivered,  and  sank  back  exhausted,  among 
the  chintz  cushions.  "  It  is  cold,  —  I  think,'* 
she  said,  feebly. 


14         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  FoUy. 

Johnny  ran  to  the  bed,  and  pulling  off  the 
blanket,  contrived,  not  ungently,  to  wrap  it  about 
his  mother's  shoulders;  and  then  dashed  out 
through  the  kitchen,  and  down  stairs,  into  the 
cellar  to  find  some  more  wood. 

The  last  stick  had  been  consumed.  What 
should  he  do  ?  The  house  was  a  hired  one,  and 
belonged  to  Mr.  Stamford.  The  Forbeses  had 
no  right  to  a  timber  in  it,  and  their  rent  had 
been  unpaid  for  two  months.  But  his  mother 
must  not  suffer.  It  was  already  November,  and 
there  was  snow  upon  the  ground,  and  a  chilly 
dampness  in-doors.  Besides,  night  was  coming, 
and  it  was  growing  colder.  Should  he  borrow 
of  his  next  neighbor  ?  But  with  what  could  he 
hope  to  pay  ?  Should  he  beg  ?  Never  !  There 
was  the  heavy  plank  floor  of  the  cellar.  How 
easily  he  could  tear  up  a  board  and  convert  it 
into  heat  and  comfort  for  the  sick  parent  he 


"Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  15 

loved  so  dearly  I  He  got  down  upon  his  knees, 
and  placing  both  hands  in  a  hole  partly  gnawed 
and  partly  splintered,  pulled  with  all  his  might. 
Up  came  the  board.  He  leaned  back  a  little, 
after  his  effort,  to  get  breath.  All  at  once  it 
struck  him  that  he  was  in  the  very  attitude  he 
assumed  when  he  said  his  prayers.  "  How 
funny !  "  he  thought ;  for  directly  opposite  him, 
upon  a  rude,  projecting  shelf,  stood  a  figure- 
head, with  staring  eyes,  apparently  watching 
him.  It  was  the  figure-head  of  the  "  Admiral 
Nelson,"  the  last  vessel  his  father  had  com- 
manded. The  nose  had  been  knocked  off,  the 
forehead  deeply  indented,  and  it  was  almost 
bare  of  paint,  except  in  patches.  It  looked 
more  like  some  hideous  heathen  idol,  than  a 
representation  of  the  hero  of  the  Nile ;  and  for 
a  moment,  the  situation  appeared  to  Johnny 
ludicrous  in  the  extreme.  He  ha !  ha  !-ed  iq 


16         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1 8  Folly. 

spite  of  himself;  but  his  involuntary  mirth  was 
checked  as  suddenly  by  the  bitterest  self- 
reproaches.  How  could  he  be  merry  when  his 
mother  had  only  just  told  him  that  the  day  of 
her  death  was  near  at  hand  ?  And  quickly  the 
voice  of  conscience  within  him  cried,  "  Johnny  I 
what  is  this  you  are  doing  ?  Thieving  ?  What ! 
Serving  your  mother  by  sinning  against  God  ? 
Put  back  that  board.  It  does  not  belong  to  you. 
Beg;  but  don't  steal.  It  is  no  disgrace  to  be 
poor,  when  vice  has  not  invited  the  wolf  to 
cross  the  threshold ;  but  it  is  a  crime  to  lay 
unlawful  hands  upon  that  which  is  another's." 

Johnny  put  the  timber  back  into  its  place, 
and  pounded  in  the  loose  nails  with  the  butt  end 

of  the  axe. 

1 

"  I'll  take  the  figure-head,"  said  he.     "  It  is 

hard  wood,  and  father  wouldn't  care,  if  he 
knew  it  was  for  mother." 


"Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  17 

Alas !  poor  Nelson !  and  it  cost  even  Johnny 
a  pang  to  split  up  the  precious  relic.  But  it 
barred  out  the  winter  for  two  severe  days,  and 
then  God  sent  good  Mrs.  Staniford  to  minister  to 
then-  distress. 

Johnny  was  at  school,  when  she  came ;  and 
Molly,  as  usual,  was  playing  the  tidy  housewife. 
Little  Lizzie,  standing  upon  a  stool  by  the 
kitchen  table,  was  trying  her  hand,  for  the  first 
time,  at  washing  dishes.  Poor  little  lamb  !  In 
a  family  happy  with  health,  and  blest  amply 
with  the  good  things  of  this  life,  the  sight  would 
have  been  simply  amusing  and  pretty ;  here,  it 
was  pitiful.  At  least,  so  thought  Mrs.  Stani- 
ford ;  and  hastily  ungloving  her  hands,  she 
waited  for  no  apology,  but  with  a  pleasant 
"  Good-morning,  my  dear,"  to  Molly,  lifted  her 
busy  atom  of  a  sister  from  her  perch,  kissed  her 
rose-bud  lips,  and  setting  her  down  in  the  little 


18         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

rush-bottomed  rocker  by  the  fire,  finished  the 
dishes  herself,  notwithstanding  Molly's  shame- 
faced remonstrance. 

"  Don't  be  troubled,  my  child,"  she  said  in 
answer  to  Molly's  demurrer ;  "  it  is  a  real 
pleasure  to  me  to  find  myself  at  the  old  work ; 
for,  do  you  know,  Molly,  time  was  when  Mr. 
Stamford  was  not  a  very  wealthy  man,  and  I 
labored  as  hard  with  these  hands  as  my  servant 
maids  do  with  theirs  to-day.  Yes,  harder ;  for  I 
sometimes  did  work  for  other  people  as  well  as 
for  my  own  family.  And  now  tell  me,  my  dear, 
how  your  mother  is,  this  morning.  I  felt  so 
anxious  about  her,  that  though  the  house  is  full 
of  company,  and  we  are  just  as  busy  as  we  can 
be  getting  ready  for  Christmas,  I  could  not  stay 
away  another  day.  Is  she  asleep  ?  Just  go  and 
see,  child.  You're  light-footed  as  a  fawn,  and 
won't  disturb  her ;  but  I'm  pretty  ponderous,  as 
you  feiow,  and  shod  with  steel,  besides." 


11  Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me."  19 

Molly  opened  the  door  softly,  and  returned 
with  the  intelligence  that  her  mother  was  awake 
and  would  be  happy  to  see  Mrs.  Staniford. 

So   the   good   lady   entered   the    sick    room. 

Her  first  quick  glance  told  her  that  the  fire  was 
low,  and  that  more  fuel  was  needed.  The  easy- 
chair,  too,  she  saw  was  anything  but  an  '  easy  ' 
one,  with  its  high,  straight  back,  and  worn-out 
padding  ;  and  the  bed  seemed  but  scantily  cov- 
ered for  so  cold  a  day.  All  this  she  discovered 
before  she  had  taken  three  steps  into  the  room, 
and  reproached  herself  that  she  had  let  a  whole 
month  slip  by  without  coming  to  acquaint  herself 
personally  with  Mrs.  Forbes's  condition,  and  the 
needs  of  her  family. 

For  she  was  a  sister  in  the  same  church  with 
the  sick  woman,  and  had  meant  to  undertake  for 
her  specially.  But  the  "  cares  of  the  world," 
some  of  which  she  had  mentioned  to  Molly,  had 


20         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

absorbed  her  thought,  and  the  time  had  sped  so 
rapidly  that  she  was  surprised  to  find  how  long 
she  had  neglected  this  charge  which  should  have 
been  the  first  to  claim  her  zeal  and  effort.  For 
are  not  Christ's  "  little  ones  "  his  own  represen- 
tatives in  the  flesh  ? 

Mrs.  Staniford  was  a  genuine  Christian,  not- 
withstanding her  temporary  forgetfulness  in  this 
instance  of  an  assumed  duty.  It  pained  her  to 
think  how  remiss  she  had  been.  She  felt  almost 
as  though  she  had  acted  the  part  of  the  priest 
and  Levite ;  only  she  had  "  passed  by  on  the  other 
Bide,"  —  not  indeed  a  common  Jewish  wayfarer, 
but  Christ  himself,  wounded,  lonely,  forsaken 
of  those  to  whom  he  should  have  been  dearest. 

She  took  the  patient  invalid's  wasted  hand  in 
both  her  own,  and,  bending  over  her,  whispered, 

"  Forgive  !  That  must  be  my  first  word,  dear 
Mrs.  Forbes.  I  did  not  dream  you  were  so  ill, 


"Sick,  and  Te  Visited  Me."  21 

though  that  is  no  excuse  for  my  neglect.  I've 
been  very  selfish,  I'm  afraid,  and  I  feel  guilty 
and  remorseful,  standing  here,  and  looking  into 
your  wan,  white  face ;  I've  had  so  much,  and 
you  so  little  —  husband,  and  home,  and  health, 
and  every  comfort  and  luxury.  And  you've  been 
suffering  for  the  actual  necessaries  of  life  ;  I  saw 
that  the  moment  Molly  opened  the  door.  It  is 
too  bad !  too  bad  I  But  it  isn't  too  late,  now,  I 
hope,  foi  me  to  discharge  a  part  of  my  duty  to 
you  and  to  Christ,  and  I'm  very  glad  I  didn't 
put  off  coming  any  longer.  Tell  me,  have  you  a 
physician?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  replied  the  poor  woman.  "No  phy- 
sician can  cure  a  seated  consumption.  The  dis- 
ease is  hereditary  with  me.  I  took  a  severe  cold 
a  year  ago,  you  remember,  and  have  never  been 
able  to  throw  it  off,  but  have  added  to  it  instead, 
from  exposure,  until  now  I  feel  myself  sinking 


22         The  Stamfords  of  Stanifor d's  Folly. 

into  the  same  state  in  which  my  brother  and  sis- 
ters lingered  for  a  few  months  before  their  death. 
I  know  the  symptoms  well.  There  is  no  help  for 
me.  And  I'm  sorry  you  should  feel  so  troubled 
because  you  have  not  called  here  of  late.  You 
accuse  yourself  very  unjustly.  You  have  always 
been  mere  than  kind  to  me  and  mine,  and  I  know 
God  will  reward  you  for  it.  Forgive  you,  my 
dear  friend  ?  Why  !  I  can  only  bless  you'.  There 
is  nothing  but  your  great  goodness  to  forgive, 
and  to  overlook  that  w®uld  be  impossible.  I 
shall  take  the  remembrance  of  it  into  the  other 
world  with  me,  and  keep  it  always." 

"  Then,  indeed,  I  shall  have  treasure  laid  up 
in  heaven,"  returned  her  visitor,  affectionately ; 
"  for  '  moth  and  rust '  can  never  consume  love, 
nor  thieves  rob  me  of  what  is  immortal.  It  is 
very  sweet  to  be  loved,  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  I'm 
glad  you  love  me,  little  as  I  deserve  it.  Your 


"Sick,  and  Ye  Visited  Me"  23 

gentle  words  reproach  me  bitterly.  But  I  am 
coming  now  to  see  you  every  day,  and  you  shall 
want  for  nothing  that  it  is  in  my.  power  to  pro- 
vide for  your  comfort.  I  am  going  away  imme- 
diately to  bring  you  a  physician.  You  need  a 
skilled  doctor  to  prescribe  for  you ;  and  if  he 
cannot  cure  you,  he  may  at  least  think  of  some- 
thing which  will  ease  your  cough,  and  make  it 
less  wearing.  Sleep,  while  I'm  absent,  just  as 
peacefully  as  you  can.  Let  nothing  worry  you 
in  mind.  Give  up  every  anxiety  for  the  morrow, 
and  rest  in  God's  love,"  she  whispered,  as  she 
bent  lower,  and  kissed  the  pale  lips. 

Mrs.  Forbes  pressed  the  plump,  warm  hands 
which  held  her  own,  as  though  loath  to  let  them 
go,  and  followed  with  her  eyes  the  broad,  retreat- 
ing figure  until  the  door  closed  behind  it ;  then 
sank  into  the  sweetest  slumber  she  had  known 
for  a  long,  long  time. 


CHAPTER  II. 

A  "LIBERAL  REWARD." 

FTER  all,  Johnny  had  not  told  anybody 
what  he  had  found  in  the  snow.  He  had 
thought  better  of  his  first  impulse  —  or 
was  it  worse?  At  all  events,  he  had  been 
passing  through  the  ordeal  of  another  tempta- 
tion. 

When  he  tore  up  the  plank  in  the  cellar,  he 
knew  that  it  did  not  belong  to  him,  and  did 
belong  to  Mr.  Staniford.  The  act  of  seizure  wa3 
deliberate.  But  when  he  found  lying  by  the 

(24) 


A  "Liberal  Reward"  25 

side  of  the  street,  the  beautiful  gold  necklace 
and  locket  which  he  had  picked  up  and  put  in 
his  pocket,  he  was  utterly  ignorant  of  its  owner- 
ship, and  did  what  anybody  else  would  have  done 
under  the  circumstances.  At  the  time,  he  did 
not  stop  to  examine  them,  but  he  afterward 
found  engraved  upon  the  inside  of  the  locket, 
*'  Papa's  birth-day  gift  to  Pearl,"  together  with 
the  date.  Also  a  miniature  of  a  gentleman,  the 
original  of  which  he  was  sure  he  had  met  at 
some  time,  on  his  way  to  school. 

The  trinket  was  valuable,  and  Johnny  could 
not  help  knowing  it;  and  the  circumstance  of 
his  taking  it  out  of  the  snow  did  not  make  it  his. 
Unless  it  were  given  to  him  by  its  owner,  it 
could  never  belong  him.  This  he  fully  under- 
stood. Of  course  it  was  his  duty  to  try  and 
discover  the  person  who  had  lost  it ;  —  not  to 
keep  it  a  secret,  but,  while  reserving  an  exact 


26         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

debcription  of  it,  to  make  inquiries  which  should 
lead  to  its  immediate  or  ultimate  discovery  by 
Pearl  or  her  papa.  Johnny  knew  that  people 
frequently  advertised  "  found  "  as  well  as  "  lost " 
property,  in  the  papers  ;  but  that  was  out  of  the 
question  with  him :  he  could  not  pay  for  the 
briefest  advertisement.  Besides,  Satan  was  at 
his  elbow,  urging  that  the  wood  was  almost  gone 
again,  and  that  a  visit  to  the  pawnbroker's  would 
convert  the  useless  ornament  into  fuel  and  food. 
*'  Nobody  could  blame  you,"  whispered  the 
tempter.  "  The  people  who  lost  this  were  not 
hungry,  -  and  cold,  and  sick.  You  found  it,  too ; 
and  if  you  hadn't,  somebody  else  would,  and 
would  have  disposed  of  it,  in  nine  cases  out  of 
ten.  The  thing  is  yours.  Pawn  it,  and  nobody 
will  be  the  wiser." 

It  was  noon  of  the  very  day  Mrs.  Staniford 
had  called  on  Johnny's  mother.      On  the  way 


A  "Liberal  Reward"  27 

home  from  school,  Johnny  stopped,  as  he  fre- 
quently did,  to  look  in  at  the  windows  of  a  shop 
full  of  the  most  curious  toys  of  foreign  and 
native  construction.  China,  Japan,  India, 
Turkey,  Austria,  Bohemia,  Sweden,  Holland, 
Germany,  France,  Switzerland,  England, 
and  Scotland,  were  all  represented  here,  with 
not  a  few  useful  as  well  as  ingenious  articles 
from  Fayal,  Madeira,  and  Mexico.  It  was  a 
grand  Cosmopolitan  Bazaar,  and  attracted  the 
older  people  quite  as  much  as  the  boys  and  girls, 
—  particularly  as  the  Christmas  holidays  were 
near. 

Johnny  was  so  intent  upon  the  funny  images 
of  mandarins  in  their  dragon-embroidered  robes, 
holding  out  for  inspection  little  lacquered  trays 
of  puzzles,  and  ivory  carvings,  and  parlor  fire- 
works, and  the  group  of  gaily  dressed  clay 
figures  representing  the  castes  in  India,  from 


28         The  Stamford*  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Brahmin  to  beggar,  that  he  did  not  at  lirst 
notice  a  paper  wafered  upon  the  inside  of  the 
window  pane  since  he  last  passed  that  way ;  but 
in  attempting  to  get  a  peep  into  the  magic  glass 
held  up  by  a  wooden  monkey,  which,  by  means 
of  some  subtle  machinery,  was  perpetually  bow- 
ing his  head,  and  grinning  at  outsiders,  he 
became  aware  of  the  little  placard  intercepting 
his  view,  and,  somewhat  angrily,  looked  squarely 
at  it,  and  read  — 

LOST.  —  On  the  afternoon  of  "Wednesday,  the  29th 
inst.,  between  Shawmut  Place  and  Madison  Avenue,  on 
Washington  Street,  a  heavy  link  chain  of  dead  gold, 
with  enamelled  locket  attached,  set  with  pearls.  On 
the  inside  of  the  locket,  opposite  an  ivory  miniature  of 
a  gentleman,  was  engraved,  "Papa's  birth-day  gift  to 
Pearl.  June  2nd,  18  —  " 

Whoever  will  leave  the  same  with  Mr.  Seccomb  at 
the  counting-room,  shall  be  liberally  rewarded. 

"  Dovale  &  Seccomb,"  —  that  was  the  name 

of  the  firm  who  kept  the  Cosmopolitan  Bazaar. 

Imagine    Johnny's    surprise    and    momentary 


A  "Liberal  Reward."  29 

confusion !  for  here  was  the  exact  description  of 
the  very  trinket  he  carried  in  his  pocket !  There 
could  be  no  doubt  that  the  owner  was  not  far  off. 
What  should  he  do  ?  Would  you  have  hesitated  ? 

"Keep  it,"  said  the  tempter.  "Mr.  Seccomb 
will  not  offer  you  as  a  reward,  one  tenth  of  its 
actual  worth.  It  must  be  very  valuable,  or 
he  would  not  have  advertised  that  the  finder 
should  be  '  liberally '  rewarded.  Pawn  it,  — 
pawn  it !  Johnny.  Nobody  will  know  anything 
about  it." 

"  Dashed  if  I  will !  "  exclaimed  Johnny  aloud, 
much  to  the  surprise  of  a  gentleman  who  stood 
near,  and  noticed  the  quick,  emphatic  movement 
of  Johnny's  head,  and  the  sudden  mounting  of 
color  to  his  face.  He  smiled,  fancying  for  a 
moment  that  the  boy  was  light-witted.  But  you 
and  I  know  how  egregiously  he  was  mistaken. 

Johnny   marched   boldly   into    the  store,  and 


30         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford" s  Folly. 

asked  of  the  nearest  clerk,  "  Where  is  the 
counting-rooin,  sir  ?  " 

"  Do  you  want  to  see  Mr.  Dovale  ?  "  inquired 
the  officious  fellow. 

"No,"  replied  Johnny,  "I  want  to  find  the 
counting-room." 

"  Mr.  Seccomb  is  very  busy  on  his  balance 
sheet,  and  can't  be  disturbed." 

But  the  repulse  did  not  frighten  Johnny.  It 
only  nettled  him.  "  I've  got  to  see  him ! "  he 
insisted. 

"  Oh,  you're  the  new  boy  at  the  telegraph 
office,  with  a  dispatch,  I  suppose.  Well,  como 
along,  Seedy.  Your  boots  don't  hurt  you,  nor 
anything,  —  do  they?  and  I  reckon  your  mother 
won't  have  to  shorten  your  pants  many  times 
more  before  you'll  grow  to  'em." 

There  was  a  certain  manliness  about  Johnny, 
despite  his  boyish  love  of  mischief  and  fun.  Tlie 


A  "Liberal  Reward:'  81 

rude  taunt  hurt  him  ;  for  the  blow  of  a  bludgeon 
will  make  the  flesh  quiver,  even  if  it  fail  to  draw 
the  life-blood ;  and  he  replied  quickly,  "  No. 
My  mother  will  never  sew  for  me  again.  And 
you  can't  be  much  of  a  son  to  your  mother,  or 
you  wouldn't  slur  mine." 

"  Sho !  "  was  the  young  upstart's  rejoinder. 
"  Where  were  you  fledged  ?  " 

"  In  a  place  where  I  found  out  something 
about  good  manners,"  retorted  Johnny,  now  very 
red  in  the  face.  "  And  I  don't  remember  seeing 
you  there,"  he  added. 

"  Very  likely,"  returned  his  interlocutor,  not 
at  all  abashed.  "I'd  graduated  by  that  time, 
and  was  studying  for  a  professor.  But  you're  a 
smart  one  for  a  small  chap,  and  I  reckon  you 
won't  be  long  cutting  your  eye  teeth.  Here's 
the  counting-room,  and  that's  Seccomb  inside." 
Then  opening  the  door  and  looking  in,  "  Mr. 


32         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford" s  Folly. 

Seccomb,  this  is  the  new  messenger  from   the 

telegraph  office,  with  a  dispatch  for  you." 

Mr.  Seccomb  replied  without  looking  up,  "  I 

•will    attend     to    you   presently,"   and   finished 

transferring  some  figures  to   his   balance-sheet. 

Then,  wiping   his   pen,  and  laying  it  upon  the 

rack,  he  turned  toward  Johnny. 

"  A  telegram,  eh  ?  let's  have  it,  if  you  please." 
"I'm     not     the    messenger,    sir,"    answered 

Johnny.     "  I  came  in  to  see  you  about  the  paper 

that's  in  the  window." 
"What  paper?" 
"  The  one   that  tells    about    the    chain    and 

locket,  sir." 

"Oh!  —  ah!     Have    you    found    the     lost 

articles  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir.     Was  it  you  who  lost  them  ?  " 

"  What  business  is  that  of  yours  ?  " 

"  I  must  give  them  to  the  right  person,  that 

is  all,"  insisted  Johnny. 


A  "Liberal  Reward."  33 

"  Well,  then,  Pearl  Seccomb  lost  them,  and  I 
am  her  father.  How's  that  ?  " 

"  They  belong  to  you.  I  picked  them  out  of 
the  snow,  two  days  ago,  and  here  they  are." 
And  Johnny  produced  the  chain  and  locket  from 
his  pocket,  and  laid  them  upon  the  desk. 

"  So !  —  and  they  are  uninjured,"  —  examining 
them.  "Do  you  know,  boy,  how  much  these 
ornaments  are  worth  ?  " 

"  No,  sir,"  replied  Johnny.     "  I  never  asked." 

"Well, —  here's  twenty-five  cents  for  your 
honesty. 

Now  Johnny  knew  what  a  "  liberal  reward  " 
is  supposed  to  mean  as  well  as  anybody.  He 
had  presumed  that  he  should  be  offered  at  least 
five  dollars,  since  the  jewelry  was  evidently 
worth  ten  times  that  amount,  —  probably,  more. 
And  although  he  did  not  intend  to  accept  it  as 
the  price  of  a  right  action,  he  did  mean  to  tell 
3 


34         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

the  gentleman  about  the  straits  in  which  his 
mother  was  placed,  and  how  much  she  needed 
even  the  necessaries  of  life,  and  to  assure  him 
that  only  actual  want  would  tempt  him  to  take 
the  sum  offered.  But  when  Mr.  Seccomb  said, 
"Here's  twenty-five  cents  for  your  honesty," 
Johnny's  blood  boiled  at  the  man's  meanness. 

"  Thank  you,"  he  said.  "  My  honesty  is 
worth  more  than  twenty-five  cents  to  me.  I'll 
make  you  a  present  of  the  money." 

How  Johnny  dared  to  utter  the  stinging  words, 
or  how  he  got  out  of  the  counting-room,  and  the 
store,  he  never  knew.,  The  first  thing  he  was 
really  conscious  of,  was  a  broad  hand  held  out 
to  him,  and  a  pleasant  voice  saying,  "  I'm  glad 
to  see  you,  Johnny !  and  you're  just  the  boy  I 
want  I " 

He  looked  up.  Who  should  it  be  but  Mrs. 
Stamford  I 


A  "Liberal  Reward."  35 

There  stood  her  sleigh  by  the  side-walk, 
directly  in  front  of  a  large  furniture  store.  Her 
arms  were  full  of  bundles,  and  her  coachman 
was  running  after  an  express-wagon,  and  halloo- 
ing at  the  driver,  who  did  not  hear  him. 

"Can  you  manage  these  packages,  do  you 
think,  Johnny?"  she  asked.  "I'm  in  great 
haste,  as  I  have  several  other  errands  to  do,  and 
must  get  home  by  one  o'clock,  or  Peter  should 
drive  round  to  Vine  Street.  But  if  you  can 
carry  them  instead,  it  will  oblige  me  very  much. 
They're  for  your  mother,  child,  and  you  may 
untie  every  bundle  yourself,  when  you  get  home. 
And,  Johnny  dear,  there's  some  wood  and  coal 
coming  in  an  hour  or  so,  and  you  must  tell  the 
man  where  to  put  it.  Then  too  —  but  you'll  be 
at  school  by  that  time,  and  Molly  can  attend  to 
it  just  as  well.  Now  don't  lose  anything,  will 
you?" 


36         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  No  ma'am,  not  a  bundle.  And  I  thank  yon 
over  and  over  again." 

Well,  the  rich  are  not  all  selfish,  avaricious, 
and  mean ;  and  Johnny,  who  was  beginning  to 
think  pretty  hardly  of  moneyed  people,  and  was 
almost  wishing  he  had  never  seen  that  notice  in 
Dovale  &  Seccomb's  window,  so  that  he  might 
have  had  some  excuse  for  retaining  the  costly 
articles  he  had  found  in  his  own  possession, 
became  suddenly  aware  of  a  great  revulsion  of 
feeling.  Gratitude  was  taking  the  place  of 
hatred  in  his  heart;  he  was  glad  he  had 
restored  to  its  rightful  owner  what  had  only 
been  a  temptation  to  him ;  and  he  said  to  him- 
self, "  '  Honesty  is  the  best  policy,'  because  it  is 
right  to  be  honest;  and  the  right  always  pays 
better  than  the  wrong.  Mrs.  Staniford  is  the 
best  woman  that  ever  lived  —  except  mother; 
and  I'll  never  call  her  husband  4  old  Nahum  * 
again." 


CHAPTER  III. 

THE  FAIRY. 

OU  may  be  sure   that  Johnny  was  not 
long  in  reaching  Vine   Street,   and   that 
when  the  packages  were  deposited  upon 
the  kitchen  table,  not  one  was  missing. 

How  Molly  opened  those  snapping  black  eyes 
of  hers  !  and  how  her  olive  cheeks  flushed,  when 
Johnny  assured  her  that  a  fat  fairy  in  a  velvet 
cloak  had  given  them  to  him  for  his  mother. 
She  knew  who  the  "fat  fairy"  was,  in  a 
moment. 

(37) 


38         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"Now  just  come  here,  Molly,  and  look  with 
all  your  nose !  And  you  too,  Sis.  For  Mrs. 
Stamford  told  me  I  might  open  every  single 
bundle  first,  myself,  and  my  'opening'  will 
beat  any  of  the  store  *  openings,'  —  you  see  if  it 
don't ! " 

First,  there  was  a  roll  of  heavy  flannel,  and 
Rome  fine,  soft  towels.  Then  a  piece  of  striped 
cashmere,  for  a  sick-gown.  Then  a  pretty  little 
japanned  tray.  Then  a  bottle  of,  sherry  wine, 
another  of  cod-liver  oil,  and  a  third  of  bay- 
water.  Johnny's  arms  had  ached  with  carrying 
them,  and  he  breathed  like  a  race  horse  while  he 
was  untying  the  packages. 

"  Oh !  isn't  it  splendid  !  "  exclaimed  Molly,  jump- 
ing up  and  down,  and  clapping  her  hands. 

"  Wait  till  you  see  what  else  there  is,"  said 
Johnny,  drawing  from  his  pockets  sundry  smaller 
bundles.  "  Here's  corn  starch,  and  gelatine,  and 


The  Fairy.  39 

tapioca,  and  moss,  and  lemons.  Now  isn't  that 
a  show  worth  looking  at  ?  /  tell  you !  Mrs.  Stan- 
iford's  just  jolly  !  " 

He  flung  his  cap  into  a  chair,  and  proceeded 
to  divest  himself  of  coat  and  scarf. 

"  Just  let  'em  alone,  Sis  !  and  we'll  give  moth- 
er a  surprise.  Molly !  you  get  down  the  clothes- 
basket  and  we'll  spread  the  whole  lot  in  the  bot- 
tom of  it,  and  cover  it  up  with  the  table-cloth, 
and  then  make  her  guess  what  there  is  under- 
neath. You'd  better  believe  it  was  a  load  though, 
and  if  the  bottles  hadn't  been  done  up  together,  I 
should  have  dropped  some  of  them  on  the  way." 

"  That  would  have  been  too  bad,"  said  Molly. 
"  I'm  real  glad  you  got  them  all  home  safe.  Oh  1 
isn't  it  —  isn't  it  splendid?  " 

And  she  ran  to  the  tin-closet,  and  took  the 
basket  down  from  the  nail  and  brought  it  in  a 
trice ;  while  Johnny  disposed  the  various  articles 


40         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

in  the  bottom  of  it  to  suit  himself,  and  then 
spread  the  table-cloth  over  the  whole,  leaving 
only  the  two  handles  in  sight. 

"  Just  you  peep,  Lizzie,  and  see  if  mother's 
awake,"  said  he. 

Lizzie  opened  the  door  softly,  and  crept  in  on 
tiptoe. 

"  What  does  my  little  girl  want  ?  "  asked  Mrs. 
Forbes. 

"  Oh,  Johnny  asked  me  to  —  " 

"  Whist,  then ! "  exclaimed  Johnny,  "  We're 
coming,  Molly  and  I." 

And  they  brought  in  their  burden,  and  rested 
it  on  the  edge  of  the  bed. 

"Now  guess,  mother,"  said  Johnny.  "What's 
in  this  basket  ?  " 

"  Something  you've  wanted  this  ever  so  long," 
added  Molly,  by  way  of  a  slight  clew. 

"  It's  nice  and  warm,"  echoed  Lizzie. 


The  Fairy.  41 

"  Hold  on  to  the  tail  of  that  cat,  Sis  ! "  said 
Johnny,  "  or  it'll  be  out  before  you  know  it." 

"  It  isn't  a  cat,"  argued  Lizzie.     "  It's  —  '* 

"Avast!  now.     It's  not  fair  to  tell." 

"  But  where  did  it  come  from,  children  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Forbes. 

"  A  Pharoah  gave  the  things  to  Johnny,"  ex- 
claimed Lizzie,  eagerly.  "A fat  Pharaoh." 

How  Johnny  and  Molly  laughed !  and  eveu 
Mrs.  Forbes  joined  faintly,  though  it  set  her  to 
coughing  directly,  and  the  basket  came  near 
sliding  to  the  floor.  There  was  an  ominous 
sound  of  glass  bottles  knocking  together,  which 
frightened  Molly  a  little,  and  she  exclaimed  ex- 
citedly,— 

**  Oh  dear,  Johnny !  what  if  we've  smashed 
them,  and  spilt  the  wine  and  the  cod-liver  oil  1 " 
and  off  came  the  table-cloth  with  a  jerk. 

*'  See  now  what  you've  done  I  "  said  Johnny,  a 


42         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

little  indignant  at  his  sister's  alarm  and  haste. 
"You've  just  spoiled  the  fun.  Girls  are  such 
scarecrows !  " 

"  Never  mind,"  said  Mrs.  Forbes,  gently.  "  I 
don't  believe  I  could  have  guessed,  Johnny. 
What !  a  dress  ?  And  flannel  ?  " 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  it  was  nice  and  warm,  moth- 
er? "  asked  Lizzie. 

"  That  you  did,"  commented  Johnny,  dryly. 

"  And  so  many  other  nice   things  ?  Somebody 

I 
has  been  very,  very  good,  children."     And   the 

tears  glistened  in  Mrs.  Forbes's  eyes. 

"  That's  so  I "  said  Johnny,  emphatically. 
"  And  there's  some  rich  folks  in  the  world,  that 
ain't  mean  I "  he  added.  "  Hurrah  !  for  Mrs. 
Stamford." 

"  Don't  Johnny,"  remonstrated  Molly.  "  Moth- 
er's head  can't  bear  such  a  noise.  You  ought  to 
be  ashamed  of  yourself." 


The  Fairy.  43 

"  Well,  I  won't  do  it  again.  But  I  had  to, 
then,  or  I  should  just  have  blown  up." 

The  wood  and  coal  arrived  before  school-time, 
and  not  long  afterward  a  bag  of  flour,  some  oat- 
meal, Indian  meal,  molasses,  soap,  oil,  and  other 
groceries. 

Then  another  pung  drove  up,  and  left  a  reclin- 
ing chair.  That  brought  all  Vine  street  to  the 
front  windows. 

Next  came  a  boy  with  a  pair  of  blankets  and 
comforters ;  and,  toward  evening,  Doctor  Bowles, 
with  a  nurse  for  the  sick  woman. 

Mrs.  Stamford's  promise  had  meant  something. 

It  may  seem  strange  to  you  that  Mrs.  Forbes's 
neighbors  had  not  been  more  neighborly ;  but 
with  only  one  exception,  they  had  turned  their 
backs  upon  the  widow  in  her  distress,  and  I  am 
afraid,  secretly,  if.  not  openly,  rejoiced  in  her 
misfortunes.  They  called  her  "  proud,"  "  stuck 


44         The  Stamfords  of  Stamfords  Folly. 

up,"  "  aristocratic ; "  the  reason  for  their 
prejudice  lying  in  the  fact  that  Mrs.  Forbes  had 
forbidden  Johnny  to  associate  in  any  manner 
with  boys  addicted  to  profane  swearing  or  the 
use  of  vile  language.  Most  of  the  boys  in  their 
immediate  vicinity,  belonged,  unfortunately,  to 
the  forbidden  class ;  for  the  poor  woman's 
limited  means  and  failing  health  had  compelled  her 
to  take  up  with  such  a  tenement  as  once  she  would 
have  shuddered  at  the  thought  of  occupying. 
Providentially,  she  had  found  in  Mr.  Staniford 
a  most  lenient  landlord ;  and,  latterly,  though 
her  rent  had  been  in  arrears,  he  had  not  pressed 
her  for  payment,  knowing  that  she  was  ill,  and 
that  the  little  she  had  to  depend  upon,  while  it 
lasted,  must  supply  the  daily  bread  for  herself 
and  family. 

His  wife,   too,   was   a  member  of  the   same 
church  with  Mrs.   Forbes,    and    guessing    her 


The  Fairy.  45 

straitened  circumstances,  had  begged  hard  in  her 
behalf,  and  Mr.  Stamford,  though  often  pig- 
headed and  obstinate  with  others,  loved  the 
mother  of  his  children  too  sincerely  to  refuse  her 
requests  for  his  needy  tenant.  Sometimes  he 
would  say  in  his  bluff,  disagreeable  way,  and 
with  the  stammer  which  was  characteristic  of 
his  rapid  utterance,  — 

'*  Wh-wh-why  don't  you  d-dress  better,  your- 
self, M-Margaret?  instead  of  l-laying  out  your 
m-money  on  other  folks  ?  You  don't  g-g-get  a 
c-cent  of  interest  for  it,  and  it's  a  p-p-plaguey 
p-poor  investment.  If  you  g-get  '  Thank  you,' 
it's  as  much  as  ever,  I'll  w-w-warrant.  I've 
always  found  that  the  p-poor  d-d-devils  that 
need  help  and  get  it,  are  always  the  ones  that 
w-want  to  hang  rich  folks  wh-when  there's  a 
strike  or  a  r-row  over  p-p-politics.  They  don't 
know  how  to  be  g-grateful." 


46         The  Stamfords  of  Staniforffs  Folly. 

Mr.  Stamford  seldom  attempted  to  argue  with 
her  husband ;  but  for  all  that,  he  gave  her  what 
money  she  wanted  for  charities,  whether  the 
sum  were  great  or  small. 

I  have  sometimes  thought,  that,  notwithstand- 
ing the  ridicule  he  too  frequently  cast  upon  city, 
home,  and  foreign  missions,  and  other  benevolent 
enterprises,  and  the  sport  he  made  of  his  wife'3 
"  sandbank  investments,"  —  as  he  termed  them, 
he  secretly  believed  in  the  wisdom  of  them,  and 
flattered  himself  that  he  was  "  lending  to  the 
Lord,"  through  her,  to  be  repaid  with  compound 
interest  in  the  other  life.  If  he  ever  tried  to 
form  any  idea  of  what  heaven  was  like,  I  am 
sure  he  must  have  imagined  the  New  Jerusalem 
to  be  an  enormously  wealthy  commercial  city, 
filled  with  merchants  of  all  nations,  —  a  sort  of 
celestial  and  greatly  enlarged  London  or  New 
York ;  and  I  can  readily  believe  that  in  fancy  ha 


The  Fairy.  47 

saw  blazoned  in  some  conspicuous  place  upon  its 
jasper  wall,  where  the  multitudes  passing  in 
through  the  gates  might  read  it,  — 

STANIFORD. 

Good  and  faithful 

AGENT. 

(Not  "  servant,"  oh,  no !)  For  he  was  a  very 
pompous  man,  and  inclined  to  be  arrogant  and 
overbearing,  and  Money  meant  to  him  as  much 
as  Worth  does  to  some  other  men. 

Several  years  before,  Mr.  Staniford,  then  in 
moderate  circumstances,  had  become  suddenly 
and  unexpectedly  rich  through  a  lucky  specula- 
tion, and  removed  from  the  pretty  little  country 
village  where  he  was  born,  to  Englewood,  a  city 
suburb,  apparently  for  no  other  purpose  than  to 
spend  lavishly  the  fortune  he  had  so  easily 
acquired. 


48         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

He  purchased  some  thirty  acres  of  woodland 
and  rich  upland, —  a  part  of  one  of  the  finest 
farms  in  the  county,  and  converted  it  into  parka 
and  lawns,  and  gardens,  planting  shrubbery,  and 
vines,  and  ornamental  trees,  making  walls  and 
setting  out  hedges,  planning  walks  and  drive- 
ways, raising  arbors,  erecting  summer-houses,  and 
green-houses,  and  graperies,  laying  out  hot-beds, 
and  sinking  a  costly  artesian  well  for  the  supply 
of  a  fountain  and  ponds. 

The  grounds  were  in  good  order,  and  cultivated 
for  three  years  before  the  house  foundations 
were  laid ;  and  the  mansion  itself  was  more  than 
a  twelve-month  in  building. 

It  was  a  strange  jumble,  I  assure  you,  with  its 
Grecian  portico  supported  by  fluted  columns 
resting  upon  tigers'  feet ;  its  Venetian  arches, 
Mansard  roof,  and  Gothic  dormer  windows ;  and 
its  Egyptian  sphinxes  reclining  upon  huge  blocks 


The  Fairy.  49 

of  hammered  granite,  on  either  side  of  the  long 
flight  of  white  marble  steps. 

No  architect,  ancient  or  modern,  could  ever 
have  dreamed  such  a  structure  ;  but  Mr.  Stani- 
ford  did ;  and  to  him  alone  belongs  the  credit  of 
the  fantastic  design.  It  was  —  as  he  expressed 
it,  —  "a  c-creation  of  the  brain  !  an  original  S- 
Staniford  idea,  done  in  b-b-brown-stone,  and  in 
good  shape,  too,  sir  !  " 

Well,  if  he  was  satisfied  it  was  nobody  else's 
business  ;  for  he  built  the  house  to  suit  himself 
aud  not  his  Englewood  neighbors.  Massive  and 
showy  —  that  describes  "  Staniford's  Folly  "  as 
well  as  words  can  describe  it,  —  and  its  owner, 
too. 

Inside,  it  was  most  luxurious ;  and  where  Mrs. 
Staniford's  good  judgment  had  been  consulted  in 
the  furnishing,  tasteful,  also.  But  the  drawing- 
room  I  You  would  have  known  at  a  glance  that 
4 


50         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford*  s  Folly. 

she  had  had  nothing  to  do  with  that.  It  was 
"  shoddy "  from  end  to  end,  and  from  floor  to 
ceiling,  containing  much  that  was  expensive,  but 
little  that  was  really  elegant.  It  seemed  like  a 
saloon  rather  than  a  drawing-room,  with  its  three 
chandeliers,  dazzlingly  brilliant,  with  innumera- 
ble cut-glass  facets,  and  gilt  filagree  ;  its  furni- 
ture, richly  upholstered  in  Turkish  damask 
inwoven  with  silver,  and  ornamented  with  mono- 
gram medallions ;  its  heavily-carved  tables  sur- 
mounted by  slabs  of  marbleizen  slate ;  its  thick 
Aubusson  carpet,  covered  with  flowers  of  fabu- 
lous size,  its  long  mirrors  in  massive  frames, 
its  portraits,  —  daubs  at  which  the  Munich 
bronzes  were  always  laughing ;  its  handsome 
Italian  mantlepiece,  enclosing  and  overhanging 
ugly,  square,  iron  registers ;  its  draperies,  half 
the  most  costly  satin  damask,  —  the  other  half 
cheap,  though  not  the  cheapest  Nottingham 


The  Fairy.  51 

lace  ;  and  its  panel  papers,  each  panel  of  which 
represented  a  life-size  statue,  gilded,  and  shaded 
in  neutral  tints. 

It  was  Mr.  Staniford's  pride  that  nearly  every- 
thing in  this  room  was  "  imported ;  "  and,  once  a 
year,  generally  on  Christmas  night,  he  gave  a 
grand  fete,  in  order  that  his  neighbors  and  friends 
might  be  suitably  impressed  with  the  glory  of  the 
Stamford  state. 

You  think,  perhaps,  children,  that  you  would 
like  to  have  been  there  on  the  grand  occasion ; 
and  listened  to  the  music  ,  and  seen  the  dancing 
and  the  rich  dresses,  and  breathed  the  fragrance 
of  the  flowers,  and  feasted  upon  the  dainties  so 
bountifully  provided  in  the  long  dining-hall  rich 
with  its  walnut  carvings  of  fruit,  and  fish,  and 
fowl,  and  its  great  side-boards  resplendent  with 
silver  and  the  choicest  glass.  Doubtless  it 
seems  like  a  picture  of  fairy-land  to  some  of  you ; 


62         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

and,  indeed,  a  fairy  dwelt  there,  and  a  good  fairy, 
too,  who  was  very  real  just  now  to  poor  Mrs. 
Forbes  and  her  children.  But  wealth  does  not 
always  bring  happiness,  whatever  you  may 
think  ;  indeed,  it  seldom  does,  I  fear.  Too  often 
it  fosters  selfishness  and  vice,  and  hides  behind 
its  tinsel  splendors,  passions  the  most  cruel, 
griefs  the  most  pitif  ul,  and  shames  the  most  ab- 
ject. 

Staniford's  Folly  was  a  mansion,  but  it  was 
not  a  home  ;  and  the  fairy  of  Staniford's  Folly, 
alas  !  was  far  from  being  a  happy  woman. 

Do  not  grudge  her  the  luxury  with  which  she 
was  surrounded  ;  the  wealth  which  lay  at  her 
command :  for  she  bore  such  crosses  as  virtuous 
poverty  knows  nothing  about.  Love  her,  chil- 
dren, as  you  read  about  her,  and  pity  her,  —  for 
she  deserves  both  your  love  and  your  pity  ;  but 
do  not  —  do  not  envy  her  I 


CHAPTER   IV. 

TWENTY-ONE. 

HE  new  nurse  was  a  quiet  little  body, 
5 

with  a  sweet  face,  and  such  a  pleasant 

way !  She  was  young,  too,  though  her 
thick,  wavy  hair  was  very  gray.  The  children 
made  friends  with  her  directly  ;  and  she  had  not 
been  at  Mrs.  Forbes's  more  than  a  week  when 
Molly  would  have  scrubbed  her  fingers'  ends  off, 
and  Johnny  cheerfully  run  till  he  had  blistered 
his  toes,  in  order  to  serve  her. 

For  now  there  was  a  head  to  the  family,  and 

(53) 


54         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

though  Molly  had  done  nobly,  —  making  the 
most  and  the  best  of  her  limited  knowledge  of 
house  keeping,  yet  they  all  felt  relieved  when 
Mrs.  Scott  took  the  charge;  and  home  began 
again  to  seem  homelike,  with  order  and  system. 

Mrs.  Forbes,  too,  had  sadly  needed  the  ten- 
derest  care,  and  had  suffered  for  want  of  it, 
though  uncomplainingly;  and  it  was  a  happy 
day  for  the  poor  consumptive  that  brought  with 
it  the  calm  face,  soothing  voice,  and  deft  hands 
of  the  new  nurse. 

Mrs.  Staniford  came  every  morning,  as  she  had 
said  she  would,  and  what  seemed  strange  to  the 
children,  always  called  Mrs.  Scott  "  Lucy,"  and 
often  kissed  her  affectionately  when  she  went 
away.  Once  Johnny  thought  he  had  heard  Mrs. 
Scott  address  her  as  "  mother,"  but  afterwards 
concluded  he  must  have  been  mistaken,  Molly 
having  assured  him  that  Mrs.  Staniford  had  only 


Twenty-one.  55 

two  daughters,  one  of  whom  was  Mrs.  Arnold, 
"  the  tall,  proud  lady  who  dressed  in  black  for 
her  husband,  and  had  the  cross  girl  with  the 
long,  light  curls,"  and  the  other  was  Mrs.  Rentz, 
who  "  lived  way  off  hi  Chicago.  And  then  there 
are  two  boys,"  continued  Molly,  "  one  great, 
large,  grown-up  one,  named  Horace,  and  one 
little  fellow  not  much  bigger  than  you.  That's 
Carl." 

"Do  you  call  me  little?"  asked  Johnny, 
indignantly.  "I'm  most  as  big  now,  as  Mr. 
"Carter." 

"  Well,  he  isn't  much  of  a  man,  for  size," 
returned  Molly.  "  Don't  you  think  '  Carl  Stan- 
iford '  is  a  pretty  name  ?  " 

"  No !  "  replied  downright  Johnny.  «*  It 
sounds  too  Dutchy.  I  like  his  looks,  though, 
and  I  guess  he's  a  pretty  clever  sort  of  a  chap,  if 
he  is  rich ;  for  I  saw  him  pull  that  dirty  little 


56         The  tStanifords  of  Stamford?  s  Folly. 

Patsy  Brine  out  of  the  middle  of  the  street,  the 
other  day,  just  as  a  sleigh  was  going  to  run  over 
him ;  aiid  when  he  began  to  cry,  Stamford  just 
handed  him  five  cents,  and  told  him  to  buy  some 
candy  with  it." 

"  He  bows  to  me,"  said  Molly,  growing  con- 
fidential ;  "  and  last  Wednesday  afternoon,  when 
I  went  with  Lizzie  to  the  grocery  store,  for  Mrs. 
Scott,  he  stopped  me,  and  asked  me  if  Lizzie  was 
my  sister,  and  how  mother  was.  I  think  he  is  a 
very  polite  boy,"  she  added. 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  he  be  polite?" 
demanded  Johnny.  "  It  don't  cost  him  any- 
thing." 

"And  it  don't  cost  you  anything,  either," 
returned  Molly.  "But  you're  pretty  saucy  to 
me,  sometimes." 

"Well,  perhaps  Carl  Staniford  don't  always 
have  his  manners  about  him,  any  more  than 


Twenty- one.  67 

other  folks,"  he  retorted.  "  Just  as  likely  as 
not  he  sauces  his  sister,  now  and  then.  Ten  to 
one  he  does.  Come,  now." 

"  Johnny,  dear,"  asked  Mrs.  Scott,  who  had 
heard  the  latter  part  of  the  conversation,  "  do 
you  think  it's  hard  or  easy  to  be  polite  ?  I  know 
several  boys  who  think  it's  very  hard." 

"  Well,  I  do,"  said  Johnny.  «  But  I  don't 
think  it's  so  hard  as  I  used  to." 

*'  That's  because  you're  older,  and  a  little 
more  manly,  and  realize  more  fully  the  impor- 
tance of  courtesy  in  your  relations  with  others. 
I've  been  very  much  pleased,  Johnny,  to  notice 
that  you've  always  treated  me  with  respect." 

"  Of  course  I  have,"  he  replied.  "  And  I  al- 
ways mean  to." 

"  But  why  ?  " 

Johnny  looked  the  surprise  he  felt  at  such  a 
question. 


58         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1 8  Folly. 

"  Because  it's  right,"  he  answered.  "  And  be- 
cause —  I  like  you." 

"  Do  you  ?  I  thought  you  did.  And  I'm  glad 
you  do.  But  —  don't  you  like  Molly,  Johnny  ?  " 

"  Why — yes.     To  be  sure  I  do." 

*'  But  not  quite  so  well  as  you  like  me  ?  " 

Johnny's  cheeks  turned  scarlet. 

"  You  ought  to  like  me  a  great  deal  better," 
said  Molly,  "  for  I'm  your  own  sister ;  and," 
catching  eagerly  at  the  drift  of  Mrs.  Scott's  cross 
questioning,  "  you  ought  to  be  as  polite  to  me 
as  you  are  to  people  that  are  no  relation  to  you, 
no  matter  how  old  they  may  be,  and  good,  and 
all  that." 

Mrs.  Scott  smiled  funnily. 

"  I  guess  I  treat  you  as  well  as  you  do  me," 
retorted  Johnny. 

"  But  supposing  you  were  to  treat  Molly  as 
well  as  she  ought  to  treat  you,"  suggested  Mrs. 


Twenty-one.  59 

Scott.  "  How  would  that  do,  my  dear  ?  Molly 
is  pretty  sensitive,  I  think.  Girls  are  apt  to  be. 
She  feels  a  harsh  word  from  you  rather  more 
than  you  do  an  equally  harsh  word  from  her. 
Supposing,  Johnny,  that  you  say  the  unkind 
things  to  me,  for  a  week,  and  the  kind  and  polite 
ones  to  Molly.  I  don't  believe  she'll  ever  forget 
herself  again,  and  be  unsisterly.  What  do  you 
think  about  it  ?  " 

"  I  think  I  won't  be  impudent  to  you,  anyway. 
You're  never  cross  to  me." 

"  But  how  about  Molly  ?  " 

Johnny  hesitated. 

"  I'll  go  half  way,"  he  said,  at  length. 

"  That's  just,  certainly." 

"Well,  I'll  go  more  than  half  way,"  said 
Molly.  "  I'll  be  polite  to  Johnny  whether  he  is 
to  me  or  not." 

"  You  don't  care  half  so  much  for  me  as  you 


60         The  Stamfords  of  Stanford's  Folly. 

do  for  Mrs.  Scott,"  she  continued,  addressing 
her  brother ;  "  but  I  like  you  a  great  deal  better, 
though  I  like  her,  too.  And  I  don't  care  wheth- 
er you  say  good  things  or  ugly  things  to  me  ;  I'm 
going  to  begin  to  try  and  keep  my  temper  and 
be  polite,  the  same  as  Mrs.  Scott  and  Mrs.  Stam- 
ford do,  and  as  mother  always  said  we  ought  to." 

"  That's  better  than  just, —  isn't  it,  Johnny  ?  " 
asked  Mrs.  Scott.  "  Don't  let  Molly  outdo  you 
in  generosity,  my  dear." 

"  I  don't  mean  to,"  he  replied.  "  But  I  guess 
I  won't  promise  too  much." 

And  with  that,  he  walked  off. 

Mrs.  Forbes  failed  daily,  though  the  children 
did  not  perceive  it.  She  kept  the  reclining-chair 
altogether,  now,  being  unable  to  lie  upon  the 
bed  hi  a  horizontal  position.  Her  cough,  too, 
was  more  harassing,  and  she  slept  but  little,  ex- 
cept under  the  influence  of  opiates. 


Twenty-one.  61 

The  time  wore  on  toward  Christmas,  and  the 
cold  strengthened.  The  ground  was  covered 
with  snow;  and  from  morning  till  night  the 
sleigh-bells  jingled  merrily  in  all  the  suburbs  of 
the  great  city.  Hampton  avenue,  in  the  vicinity 
of  the  Englewood  House,  was  alive  with  gay 
turn-outs  and  mettlesome  horses  ;  and  thousands 
of  dollars'  worth  of  blood  and  pedigree  were  bai- 
ted every  day  in  its  ample  stables.  How  the 
champagne  bottles  and  decanters  were  emptied  I 
and  at  Staniford's  Folly,  already  gay  with  guests 
bidden  to  the  approaching  fete,  the  wine  flowed 
like  water. 

This  year  the  fete  was  to  take  place  on  the 
twenty-second,  that  being  Horace's  freedom 
anniversary  ;  and  unusual  preparations  had  been 
made  for  the  auspicious  occasion. 

But  on  the  evening  of  the  twenty-first,  snow 
began  to  fall ;  at  first  lightly,  and  in  fine 


62         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

flakes  evenly  descending,  but  before  midnight 
in  thick  clouds,  borne  onward  on  a  strong  north- 
east blast,  whirling  in  blinding  eddies  sharp  and 
sleety,  drifting  —  drifting,  till  by  daylight  the 
fences  were  quite  obliterated,  and  the  travel 
seriously  interrupted.  The  snow-ploughs  were 
of  little  use ;  for  no  sooner  had  they  opened  a 
road,  than  the  furious  wind  swept  a  huge  slide 
from  the  nearest  drift,  and  filled  up  the  gap  to 
its  former  level.  Towards  noon,  the  sun 
struggled  to  be  seen,  and  there  was  a  lull  in  the 
storm;  but  again  the  clouds  closed  over,  and 
down  came  the  swaying  shroud,  an  unending 
length  of  icy  whiteness. 

There  were  few  who  were  tempted  out  to 
honor  Horace  Stamford's  twenty-first  birthnight ; 
but  those  who  had  the  temerity  to  face  the 
storm,  held  high  carnival  with  the  other  guests 
until  long  after  midnight. 


Twenty-one.  63 

The  "  reception "  was  little  else  than  a 
debauch;  and  Horace  Stamford  was  early 
carried  to  his  bed  in  a  disgraceful  state  of 
intoxication. 

It  was  a  dreadful  night  for  his  mother ;  for ' 
she  had  foreseen  what  must  be  the  result  of  Mr. 
Stamford's  insane  passion  to  outdo  his  wealthy- 
neighbors,  and  acquire  notoriety.  She  knew  her 
son's  weakness,  —  his  desire  for  stimulants  was 
already  a  besetting  sin  ;  and  she  had  begged  her 
husband,  with  all  the  eloquence  she  could 
command,  to  withhold  from  him  this  strongest  of 
all  temptations,  on  the  eve  of  his  manhood,  as  he 
valued  the  well-being  of  his  child,  and  her  own 
happiness. 

"  What  ?  Margaret !  "  was  his  reply.  "  B-bolt 
my  wine-cellar,  and  l-lock  up  my  s-s-sideboards  ? 
Wh-what  would  T-Travers  and  Holland  say? 
That  Nahum  S-Staniford  s-set  out  to  have  a  big 


64         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

t-time,  and  hadn't  m-money  enough  to  carry  it 
through.  That  he  hadn't  1-liquor  enough  to  go 
round,  and  so  s-saved  it  for  f-f-family  use,  —  for 
jelly,  and  wh-whey,  and  p-p-pudding-sauce  I 
Leave  the  w-wine  out,  Margaret  ?  I'd  b-better, 
a  great  deal,  Heave  the  w-windows  out,  and 
hang  the  chandeliers  up  in  the  s-servants'  rooms. 
No,  Margaret.  I  w-won't  be  made  a  laughing- 
stock of  by  anybody  in  Englewood.  I'll  show 
'em  that  my  p-purse  hasn't  got  a  hole  in  it  yet, 
and  that  Nahum  S-Staniford,  when  he  s-sets  out 
to  do  anything,  can  do  it  on  a  b-big  scale,  and  in 
a  style  to  b-b-beat  all  the  n-nobs  around." 

No  matter  about  Horace,  though  it  was  his 
anniversary  which  was  to  be  celebrated ;  —  no 
matter  about  Horace's  mother.  What  would 
the  guests  say  and  think  of  Mr.  Staniford  ? 
That  was  the  question. 

And  yet,  the  man  was  a  kind  husband,  and  a 


Twenty-one.  65 

very  indulgent  father ;  —  too  indulgent,  indeed, 
for  the  good  of  his  children. 

Poor  boy  !  — Poor  mother  ! 

She  went  to  his  room,  when  his  companions 
had  left  him. 

He  lay  in  a  heavy  slumber,  his  handsome  face 
pale  and  bloated,  his  mouth  open,  his  matted 
and  tangled  black  locks  hanging  over  his  half- 
shut  eyes,  his  clothes  disgustingly  soiled,  —  a 
limp  and  helpless  object  of  pity. 

Did  she  loathe  him?  No.  She  yearned 
toward  him  with  a  mother's  love.  She  kissed 
his  damp  forehead,  and  smoothed  back  his  hair, 
though  the  smell  of  his  breath  was  sickening. 
And  then  she  knelt  beside  the  bed,  and  prayed 
for  him  till  day-dawn.  And,  if  you  had 
listened,  you  would  have  heard  coupled  with  the 
name  of  Horace,  another  name  not  less  dear,  but 
which  was  never  mentioned  now  beneath  that 
5 


66         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford' '«  Folly. 

roof,  except  in  this  mother's  earnest  pleadings 
with  God  ;  —  the  name  of  her  eldest  son,  whom 
crime  had  exiled  from  his  home  and  native  land, 
and  whom  none  cared  for  now  save  her  who  had 
given  him  life,  and  the  sweet  wife  whom  he  had 
wronged  so  cruelly. 

Mrs.  Stamford  rose  from  her  knees,  lifted  the 
draperies,  and  looked  out. 

The  storm  had  ceased,  and  the  sky  was  faintly 
flushing  with  the  first  hint  of  sunrise. 

The  house  was  quiet.  It  had  been  still  for 
more  than  an  hour,  but  she  did  not  know  it.  She 
had  heeded  no  earthly  thing  in  her  communion 
with  God.  Her  eyes  were  dim  with  weeping, 
but  slumber  was  far  from  them. 

Again  she  bent  over,  and  kissed  her  boy,  and 
then  left  him  to  his  drunken  rest. 

Passing  the  door  of  her  own  chamber,  she 
heard  her  husband's  heavy  breathing.  He,  too, 


Twenty-one.  67 

had  "  looked  upon  the  wine  while  it  was  red." 
She  did  not  disturb  him.  Anna's  room  was 
locked.  Alice's  too.  But  Carl  —  there  he  lay, — 
her  youngest  born,  his  hand  beneath  his  head, 
and  a  smile  playing  about  his  lips,  upon  which 
there  was  no  taint.  He  had  kept  his  promise  to 
her. 

"  God  bless  my  darling !  "  she  whispered. 

His  eyes  unclosed,  and  he  started  up  suddenly, 
wide  awake. 

"  Is  that  you,  mother  ?  I  was  dreaming  of  you 
that  very  minute."  Then,  glancing  toward  the 
window,  "  It  must  be  very  early,  —  isn't  it  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  Are  you  sick,  mother  ?  Has  any- 
thing happened  ?  " 

"  No.  Lie  down,  my  boy,  and  go  to  sleep.  I 
didn't  mean  to  disturb  you." 

"  Oh,  I'm  not  sleepy  in  the  least.  I  went  to 
bed  at  eleven  o'clock,  as  I  said  I  would.  I  got 


68         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

tired  of  the  dancing,  and  drinking,  and  billiard- 
playing.  Besides,  Horace  kicked  me.  But  then 
he'd  been  having  too  much  champagne,  and 
didn't  half  know  what  he  was  about.  I  didn't 
touch  a  drop,  mother." 

She  sat  down  upon  the  side  of  the  bed,  and 
drew  her  boy  toward  her. 

"  Why,  mother  !  you  are  crying  1  " 

"  Oh,  I  am  very  unhappy,  Carl/* 

*4  What  for  ?  Tell  me.  Is  it  anything  I  have 
done?" 

"  No,  child,—  no." 

"What  is  it,  then?" 

"  Come  and  see,"  she  said. 

He  sprang  from  the  bed,  dressed  himself  hur- 
riedly, and  then  followed  her  soundless  footsteps 
down  the  broad,  sweeping  staircase. 

The  lights  —  many  of  them  —  were  still  burn- 
ing, for  the  servants  —  there  was  a  retinue  at 


Twenty-one.  69 

Stamford's  Folly  —  were  worn  out,  or  sleeping 
off  their  un  usual  potations ;  and  the  air  was 
heavy  with  the  odor  of  flowers,  which  were  scat- 
tered about  the  floor,  or  hanging,  withered,  from 
the  walls  and  ceiling.  Here  was  a  broken  vase, 
there,  a  torn  curtain  ;  and,  sparkling  in  a  corner, 
upon  the  linen  floor-covering,  Horace's  diamond 
pin.  In  the  opposite  corner,  two  chairs  over- 
turned, one  of  them  lying  against  the  pedestal  of 
a  statuette  which  had  fallen  prostrate  upon  its 
face,  a  ruin.  A  tassel  here ;  a  glove  yonder ; 
white-ribboned,  gilt-lettered  cards  everywhere. 

Upon  one  of  the  massive  tables  standing  in 
the  recess  of  a  bay-window,  spread  an  unsightly 
pool  of  brown  liquid,  in  the  middle  of  which  lay 
a  jewel-set  bouquet-holder,  a  costly  point-lace  fan, 
and  a  shivered  goblet ;  and  near  them  a  gentle- 
man's handkerchief,  blood-stained,  and  soiled. 

They  passed  on  to  the  dining-hall,  the  door  of 
which  stood  ajar. 


70         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1 8  Folly. 

Here,  the  growing  daylight  looking  in  at  the 
east  windows  mocked  the  red  glare  from  the 
chandeliers,  streaming  down  upon  tables  laden 
with  delicacies  which  could  tempt  no  longer. 
Those  at  the  sides  of  the  room  had  been  com- 
paratively untouched.  But  the  long  table  in  the 
midst,  reaching  from  end  to  end  of  the  hall,  was 
a  disgusting  wreck.  Viands  were  heaped  up  in 
nauseating  masses  :  —  salads  mingled  with  pre- 
serves and  m  ?lted  ices ;  oysters  swimming  in 
custard  curdled  with  claret,  upon  which  floated 
orange-peel  and  grape-skins;  sodden  fruit  cake 
and  pickles  lying  side  by  side  in  the  same  dish 
with  blanc  mange  or  Charlotte  Russe ;  shred 
rose-petals,  heath-stems,  broken  bottles  and 
glasses,  spilt  wine  and  brandy,  and  clinging  jelly 
everywhere.  Smilax  trailed  through  the  cream  ; 
and  the  glowing  orange  berries  of  the  poison 
eolanum  lay  among  the  sardines.  The  beautiful 


Twenty-one.  71 

gilded  epergnes  were  empty  of  flowers  and  fruit, 
and  filled  with  debris  of  all  sorts ;  and  silver 
spoons  and  forks  lay  scattered  among  the  dishes 
and  upon  the  floor. 

The  sight  was  almost  loathsome  ;  but  that  was 
nothing  to  the  odor.  Mrs.  Stamford  shuddered, 
and  turned  faint. 

*'  Come  Carl,"  said  she.  "  Let  us  go  up  stairs 
once  more.  The  room  is  like  a  charnel-house, 
where  ghouls  have  been  feasting  I  " 

He  shut  the  door  behind  him,  and  followed 
her  to  his  brother's  chamber. 

They  entered  softly,  but  there  was  no  need. 
He  would  not  wake  for  hours  yet. 

"  Carl ! "  she  said,  "  Look  I  "  —  pointing  toward 
the  bed. 

"  Yes,  mother,"  he  answered,  half  frightened. 
"  It  is  Horace." 

She  shook  her  head. 


72         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  No,  my  boy,  it  is  not  Horace,"  she  replied, 
sadly.  "It  is  wine.  Carl!"  —  looking  at  him 
earnestly  —  "  '  At  the  last,  it  biteth  like  a  serpent, 
and  stingeth  like  an  adder ! ' : 

He  put  both  arms  about  her  ample  waist. 

"  Poor  mother  I  "  he  whispered.  "I  know 
what  you  mean.  I  know  what  you  have  been 
crying  for.  And  I'll  never  forget  this,  — 
never ! " 

"  Oh  !  my  son  !  my  son  !  "  she  exclaimed  with 
compressed  emphasis,  her  large  frame  quivering 
with  strong  emotion,  "  Our  wealth  is  a  curse  !  — 
a  bitter  curse  I  God  send  us  poverty,  if  my 
cliildren  must  be  ruined  by  riches  I " 


CHAPTER  V. 

BLESSED   ARE  THE  COMFORTERS. 

0  you  remember,  children,  that  verse  from 
one  of  the  Psalms,  —  "  My  soul  waiteth 
for  the  Lord  more  than  they  that  watch 
for  the  morning?" 

I  think  I  never  knew  what  those  words  really 
meant,  until  once  when  I  was  very  ill.  Ah  I 
then  how  J"  watched  for  the  morning  !  " 

"  It  has  been  a  long,  long  night,  Lucy, "  said 

Mrs.  Forbes.     "  Will  the  daylight  never  come  ?  " 

"  Oh !    yes.      It  always   comes.      No   matter 

(73) 


74         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford?  s  Folly. 

how  long  or  black  the  night,  the  sunrise  always 
follows  it.  The  storm  is  over,  I  think,  aud 
the  dawn  is  certainly  peeping  over  the  drifts, 
between  the  houses.  Shall  I  raise  the  curtain  ?  " 

"  Yes,  if  you  will.  Do  you  know,  Lucy,  I  am 
longing  for  the  dawn  of  the  everlasting  day  ? 
There  is  only  one  thing,  I  believe,  that  makes 
me  cling  to  this  weary  life,  and  that  is  —  my 
children." 

"I  understand.  But  God  loves  them  better 
than  you  do.  He  will  be  father  and  mother 
both,  to  them,  when  you  are  gone  ;  and  perhaps 
you  may  be  permitted  to  watch  over  them,  and 
do  more  for  them  in  your  spiritual  state  than  you 
have  been  able  to  do  here.  Of  course  we  cannot 
know.  But  if  there  be  ministering  angels,  as  the 
Bible  says  there  are,  who  could  minister  more 
fitly  to  the  needs  of  lonely,  orphaned  little  ones, 
than  the  mother  God  gave  them  in  the  flesh  ?  " 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  76 

Mrs.  Forbes  was  silent  for  some  seconds.  At 
length  she  folded  her  hands  and  said,  "  Whether 
he  permit  me  to  return  to  earth  or  not,  it  will  be 
all  right.  I  trust  him.  He  is  my  Father,  and 
theirs.  Lucy,  have  you  children  ?  " 

"  Yes, —  one,"  she  replied,  "  up  yonder,  where 
you  are  going.  My  little  Bell." 

"  I  will  find  her.  There  are  no  strangers  in 
heaven.  What  shall  I  tell  her  ?  " 

"  That  I  am  waiting  —  waiting  for  papa.  And 
that  I  love  him  still.  Will  you  have  some 
gruel  ?  "  she  asked,  presently. 

"  Yes,  Lucy.  I  wish  you  knew  what  a 
comfort  you  are  to  me." 

"  Am  I  ?  That  is  very  sweet.  And  I  shall 
always  be  glad  that  mother  —  that  Mrs.  Stan- 
iford  gave  me  the  opportunity  to  care  for  you." 

"  Is  Mrs.  Stamford  your  mother,  Lucy  ?  You 
need  not  fear  to  tell  me." 


76         The  Stanifords  of  Staniford' 's  Folly. 

Mrs.  Scott  hesitated  for  a  moment,  and  then 
answered, — 

"Yes.  She  is  my  husband's  mother.  Ten 
years  ago  William  Staniford  and  I  were 
married.  But  he  is  dead  to  all  but  Mrs.  Stan- 
iford and  me  ;  and  for  the  sake  of  the  family,  I 
wear  my  old  name, —  Lucy  Scott." 

"  But  you  do  not  live  with  the  Stanifords  ?  " 

"  No.  And  that  is  for  my  own  sake.  My 
husband  is  —  a  felon,  and  I  bear  the  stigma  of 
his  crime,  because  I  am  his  wife.  I  should  be 
very,  very  unhappy  at  Staniford's  Folly, —  so  I 
am  a  nurse.  I  need  not  be ;  mother  does  not 
wish  it ;  but  it  is  my  choice.  When  the  heart  is 
heavy, —  as  mine  is  sometimes,  it  is  better  to 
keep  the  hands  employed ;  and  when  one  sees 
others  suffer  in  body  and  mind,  one  forgets  one's 
own  personal  woes.'* 

She  had  been  stirring  the  gruel  on  the  top  of 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  77 

the  stove,  when  the  door  quietly  opened  behind 
her,  and  Mrs.  Forbes's  one  friendly  neighbor 
entered. 

She  was  a  short,  chubby,  round-faced,  rosy- 
cheeked  little  woman,  probably  not  far  from 
fifty  years  of  age.  She  wore  a  neat  French 
print  dress,  and  an  ample  gingham  apron ;  and 
had  donned  a  quilted  hood  with  a  sort  of  large 
cape  to  it,  fur  trimmed,  and  nearly  covering  her 
shoulders.  Her  leggings,  which  she  had  shaken 
out  at  the  door,  hung  across  her  arm,  and  she 
brought  with  her  a  bowl  and  saucer  wrapped  in 
a  fine  fringed  napkin,  white  as  snow. 

"  Good  mornin'  to  ye,  Mrs.  Forbes,  dear,"  she 
said.  "  Good  mornin'  to  ye,  Mrs.  Scott.  It's  a 
very  airly  breekfast  ye're  getting,  sure.  An* 
didn't  I  think  I  would  forestall  ye,  so  I  did,  an* 
bade  me  goodman  hasten  the  fire,  that  I  might 
hate  me  chicken  broth,  an'  bring  it  over  fornenst 
the  time  Mrs.  Forbes  was  up  !  " 


78         The  Stamfords  of  Stani/ord*  s  Folly. 

At  the  sound  of  her  cheery  voice,  Mrs.  Scott 
turned  directly. 

"  Ah !  Mrs.  Garter.  We're  glad  to  see  you. 
It  is  early,  but  Mrs.  Forbes  had  very  little  sleep 
last  night,  so  we've  been  coaxing  the  daylight 
for  her  benefit.  She  shall  have  the  chicken 
broth,  if  you'd  like.  I  know  it  will  taste  good 
to  her.  Everything  you  bring  in  does.  You 
*  rise  with  the  lark,'  too,  it  seems,  as  well  as  we ; 
—  the  lark,  or  the  robin,  or  some  other  early 
winter  bird  whose  name  I've  forgotten,"  she 
added,  laughing.  "I  haven't  a  good  memory, 
Mrs.  Carter,  or  else  ]  don't  observe  as  I  ought 
to." 

"  It's  not  the  lark,  thin,  dear,"  said  Mrs.  Car- 
ter. "  Unless  it's  a  Christmas  4  lark,' —  an 
they're  plinty  with  the  Irish  at  this  time,  if 
they're  not  with  the  Americans.  But  it's  not 
that  bird  that  wakened  meself  an'  me  goodinan. 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  79 

It's  me  own  cockeril.  An'  vexed  I  am  with 
him,  too,  sometimes ;  for  I  fear  he  disturbs  ye 
with  his  great  crowun'.  He's  a  brave  bird,  sure, 
for  bringin'  the  marnin',  but  I'd  be  better  plazed 
with  him,  if  he  wouldn't  bring  it  so  airly  in  the 
night." 

And  Mrs.  Carter  laughed  heartily  at  her  own 
Irish  joke,  her  merry  blue  eyes  twinkling,  and  her 
fat  little  body  shaking  all  over. 

Mrs.  Forbes  looked  up  and  smiled ;  and  the 
nurse  said.  "  You're  a  happy  soul,  Mrs.  Carter, 
and  our  invalid  declares  that  you're  as  good  as 
you  are  happy,  which  I  am  quite  ready  to  be- 
lieve. I  really  don't  know  but  you  are  the  sun- 
light Mrs.  Forbes  has  been  so  longing  for,  the 
past  two  days." 

The  little  woman  shook  her  head. 

**  Ah  !  it's  but  a  farden  candle  I  am,  dear. 
But  I'll  flicker  me  best  to  serve  ye  and  yer  pa- 


80         The  Stamfords  of  Staniford '«  Folly. 

tient.  An'  patient  she  is, —  that's  thrue !  —  the 
Lord  spare  her  I " 

Mrs.  Scott  had  taken  the  bowl  and  set  it  upon 
the  tiny  table  which  always  stood  near  the  sick 
woman's  chair. 

"  Sit  down,  won't  you,  Mrs.  Carter  ?  "  she 
said,  drawing  the  rush-bottomed  rocker  near  the 
fire.  "  But  tell  us,  how  did  you  get  over  here  ? 
for  the  snow  at  the  back  of  the  house  is  very 
badly  drifted." 

"  Thank  ye,  dear,  but  I'll  not  be  stopping  long 
enough  to  sit.  Yis,  there  was  a  bit  of  a  dhrift, 
that's  thrue ;  an'  me  goodman  shovelled  me  over. 
It's  convanient,  ye  know,  to  have  a  path  atween 
the  two  houses ;  and  Johnny's  not  a  stout  lad, 
an'  he'll  be  after  having  his  other  chores  to  do." 

She  went  to  see  Mrs.  Forbes,  and  took  her 
wasted  hand.  Then,  looking  tenderly  into  her 
face.  "  May  the  broth  give  ye  strength,  darlint," 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  81 

she  said, "an' the  blissed  Saviour  uphold  ye  in 
yer  sickness.  It's  nigh  he  always  is  to  the  wid- 
dys  an'  the  fatherliss,  for  He's  a  husband  to  the 
widdy,  an'  the  father  of  the  orphan.  An'  a 
great  heart  He  has,  darlint,  an'  it's  always  thrue 
to  thim  He's  promised  to  love.  An'  ye  suffer, 
sure,  he  suffers,  too,  forbye  his  love  for  ye,  an* 
he'll  pray  the  Father  for  to  aise  ye  of  yer  pain, 
so  he  will ;  an'  a  dale  heartier  than  ye  can  pray 
for  yerself.  It'll  not  be  long,  dear,  afore  ye'll 
raich  the  shady  valley,  an'  away  through  it  he'll 
carry  ye  in  his  blissed  arms,  with  yer  wairy  head 
a-restin'  on  his  bosom.  Ah !  there's  none  can 
comfort  in  throuble  or  sickness  like  the  blissed 
Saviour  !  Good-bye,  darlint,  an'  the  Lord  be  nigh 
ye.  I'll  have  to  go,  now,  but  I'll  be  in  again." 

At  the  door  she  turned  back,  and  added,  "  If 
ye're  after  wantin'  me   at  any  time, —  yerself  or 
Mrs.  Scott, — just  let  Johnny  come  across  to  me,  of 
6 


82         The  Stamfords  of  StaniforcC  8  Folly. 

tinkle  the  bell  at  yer  back  door,  an'  I'll  be  over 
diractly.  Good  mornin',  Mrs.  Scott." 

"  That  little  woman  is  one  of  the  salt  of  the 
earth,  I  know,  if  she  is  Irish  !  "  exclaimed  Mrs. 
Scott,  when  she  had  gone.  "  She  is  Protestant, 
of  course  ?  "  inquiringly 

Mrs.  Fobes  nodded  assent,  and  added  hi  a 
whisper, —  for  her  conversation  with  the  nurse 
previous  to  Mrs.  Carter's  entrance  had  wearied 
her  more  than  she  was  at  first  aware  of, —  "  She 
has  been  in  America  twenty  years." 

"  Ah  I  you  are  tired  —  too  tired.  I  must  not 
let  you  talk.  And,  indeed,  you  ought  to  have 
some  wine  before  you  take  your  broth.  Will 
you  have  a  little  sherry  ?  It  will  brace  you  more 
than  the  elderberry,  being  older,  but  I  will  weak- 
en it  so  that  it  shall  not  make  you  cough." 

In  less  than  an  hour,  the  children  were  up 
and  dressed,  and  Johnnv  was  out  with  his  shovel 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  83 

trying  to  break  through  to  the  street.  But  not 
progressing  as  fast  as  he  had  expected  to  do,  he 
came  in  for  his  breakfast,  and  finished  his  work 
afterwards. 

"Oh!  Molly!  Molly!  this  is  jolly!"  he 
exclaimed,  rubbing  his  hands,  and  striking  them 
together,  and  against  his  breast.  "  But  Christ- 
mas '11  be  a  stinger,  —  see  if  it  isn't !  My  !  how 
cold  my  ears  are  !  You'd  better  believe  they 
ache  some.  Who  made  that  great  wide  path 
through  the  back  yard  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  It  couldn't  have  been  — 
Mrs.  Scott,  could  it  ?  "  she  ventured,  timidly. 

"  Mrs.  Scott  !  "  with  ineffable  disdain.  "  Why, 
it's  all  /  can  do  to  clean  a  path  through  these 
big  drifts,  the  snow  is  so  deep,  and  keeps  falling 
back  so.  I'll  bet  —  I  forgot ;  mother  told  me 
not  to  say  'bet,' — I  don't  believe  but  what 
Carter  did  it." 


84         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

"  And  mother  said  we  ought  always  to  say 
*  Mr. '  when  we  speak  of  a  gentleman." 

"  He  isn't  a  gentleman.     He's  an  Irishman." 

"And  you  think  an  Irishman  can't  be  a 
gentleman.  Is  that  it,  Johnny  ? "  asked  Mrs. 
Scott,  who  had  come  hi  to  the  kitchen  to  sweeten 
some  whey.  "Now  it  seems  to  me  that  Mr. 
Carter's  shovelling  the  snow  for  us  of  his  own 
free  will,  and  out  of  the  kindness  of  his  heart, 
was  a  very  gentlemanly  thing  to  do.  What  do 
you  think  about  it,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"I  think  it  was,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  And  so  do  I,"  echoed  Molly.  "  I  like  Mr. 
Carter.  And  Mrs.  Carter,  too.  They've  always 
been  real  good  to  us.  And  their  house  is  sweet 
pretty  inside,  Mrs.  Scott,  for  all  they're  Irish. 
Their  things  are  a  great  deal  nicer  than  ours. 
But  Mrs.  Stamford's  house  is  the  nicest.  It's 
perfectly  splendid ! " 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  85 

"Is  it?" 

"Yes'm.  And  they're  richer  than  anybody 
else  in  Englewood." 

"  And  would  you  like  to  be  rich,  Molly  ?  " 

"  I  guess  I  would  !  " 

"  You  think  it  would  make  you  a  very  happy 
little  girl,  I  suppose  ?  "  —  pouring  the  whey  into 
a  glass. 

*'  I  know  it  would." 

"  Well,  dear,  we'll  talk  about  that  sometime. 
Perhaps  I  could  tell  you  a  story  that  would  lead 
you  to  think  differently.  Would  you  like  to 
come  in  very  quietly,  children,  and  say  '  good- 
morning  '  to  mother  ?  Let  me  see.  Perhaps  I 
had  better  speak  to  her,  first.  Yes,  she  is  ready. 
Come." 

What  an  effort  Johnny  made  to  walk  on  hia 
toes  !  and  how  his  boots  would  clomp,  notwith 
standing !      The    girls    succeeded  better,   their 


86         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford' s  Folly. 

shoes  being  lighter ;  but  their  welcome  was  not 
any  more  affectionate  than  his.  He  kissed  his 
mother  tenderly,  and  stood  by  her  side,  caressing 
her  hand,  while  he  looked  wistfully  into  her 
face,  and  now  and  then  sighed  heavily.  For 
Johnny  noticed  what  his  sisters  did  not  —  that 
she  was  thinner  and  feebler  than  she  had  been, 
and  that  their  thoughtless  prattle  wearied  her 
far  more  than  it  used  to  do.  It  sent  a  pang  to 
his  young  heart;  for  he  began  now  dimly  to 
realize  that  the  time  was  drawing  nearer,  —  one 
day  nearer  with  each  sunset,  when  they  must 
part  with  her,  and  their  home  be  home  no 
longer.  The  thought  came  to  him,  as  he  stood 
there  by  the  side  of  her  whom  he  loved  so 
dearly,  that  perhaps  the  parting  was  coming 
sooner  than  he  had  guessed.  Ah !  she  seemed 
so  weak,  and  her  cough  was  so  distressing  and 
exhausting !  Tears  started  to  his  eyes,  and 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  87 

though  he  strove,  he  could  not  choke  back  the 
rising  sobs.  He  dropped  the  dear  hand  he  held 
in  his,  and  turning  abruptly  away,  went  to  his 
own  room  and  shut  himself  in. 

They  rightly  guessed  what  it  meant  —  Mrs. 
Forbes  and  the  nurse  ;  but  Lizzie  asked  inno- 
cently, "  Mother,  what  made  Johnny  cry  ?  Did 
he  do  anything  naughty  ?  " 

She  shook  her  head. 

"  No,  darling.  Johnny  —  feels  sorry  —  be- 
cause mother  is  —  sick,"  she  whispered. 

"  And  I  feel  sorry,  too,"  said  Lizzie.  "  But  I 
shan't  any  more,  when  you  get  well.  Shall  you 
Molly?" 

Poor  Molly!  The  light  was  breaking  upon 
her,  too. 

"  Oh  mother !  dear  mother  I  shall  you  get 
well  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Come  Molly !  "  said  Mrs.  Scott,  putting  her 


88         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

arm  about  the  child.  Come,  Lizzie  !  Let  us  go 
into  the  other  room,  I  want  to  talk  with  you. 
Mother  must  rest,  now." 

The  gentle  woman  took  Lizzie  upon  her  knee, 
while  Molly  stood  by  her  side  still  clinging  to 
her,  and  in  a  few  quiet  words  told  them  that 
probably  before  many  days  they  would  be 
orphans. 

Molly  wept  bitterly ;  but  Mrs.  Scott  spoke  so 
soothingly  of  heaven,  and  the  poor  invalid's 
freedom  from  pain  in  that  world  which  sickness 
never  enters,  and  of  the  hope  they  would 
always  have  before  them  of  meeting  her  again 
on  the  other  side  of  the  river  of  death,  with  the 
father  whom  little  Lizzie  had  never  seen,  and 
Molly  only  just  remembered,  that,  though  they 
were  very,  very  sad,  and  the  tears  would  come, 
they  felt  comforted,  in  a  measure,  and  grateful 
for  her  sweet  sympathy. 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  89 

"  And,  Mrs.  Scott,  shall  we  stay  here  when  — 
when  mother  —  is  gone  ?  "  , 

"  I  don't  know,  my  dear,"  she  replied.  "  Prob- 
ably not  long  if  at  all.  But  you  shall  all  have  a 
good  home,  somewhere." 

"Together?"  asked  Molly.  "Oh!  I  hope  it 
will  be  together  !  "  she  said. 

It  rent  even  the  gentle  nurse's  heart  to 
answer, — 

"I'm  afraid,  my  child,  that  that  cannot  be.  But 
then,"  she  added,  "  we  can't  tell.  We  shall  not 
decide  upon  it  just  at  present.  Don't  be 
troubled  about  it  in  the  least,  dear  Molly.  God 
will  provide  for  you  all.  You  know  he  has  a 
special  care  over  the  orphans.  David  said, 
*  When  thy  father  and  thy  mother  forsake  thee, 
then  the  Lord  will  take  thee  up.'  Kiss  me, 
children,  and  look  on  the  bright  side.  Will  you 
not?  —  I  must  begin  to  think  about  mother's 


90         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

lunch.  What  shall  we  give  her  with  the  whey  ? 
Some  white  grapes  ?  And  would  you  like  to  get 
them,  Molly  ?  The  fresh  ones,  please.  Those 
that  Mrs.  Stamford  sent  yesterday,  in  the 
storm." 

"  Does  Mrs.  Staniford  know  that  —  "  she 
stopped.  "  Does  she  know  how  sick  mother 
is?" 

"  Oh,  yes,  my  dear.  The  doctor  told  us  both, 
long  ago,  that  she  could  not  get  well." 

Molly  brought  the  grapes,  and  laid  a  bunch 
upon  a  pretty  cut-glass  dish  that  had  once 
belonged  to  Mrs.  Forbes's  youngest  married 
sister. 

"  That  was  aunty's  dish  when  I  was  a  baby," 
said  she. 

"  And  is  your  aunty  dead  ?  " 

"  Yes'm.  Aunt  Clara  and  Aunt  Addie  both 
died  in  consumption,  and  so  did  grandma  and 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters*  91 

uncle  George.  We  haven't  any  aunties  now. 
Nor  any  uncles,  except  Uncle  Joshua,  father's 
brother,  and  he  went  to  California,  round  Cape 
Horn,  in  his  vessel,  and  mother  thinks  he  is  lost, 
because  the  ship  hasn't  been  heard  from  for  so 
long." 

"Utterly  alone! — poor  children!"  thought 
Mrs.  Scott. 

She  carried  in  the  grapes  and  whey,  with  some 
delicate  biscuit ;  but  Mrs.  Forbes  had  at  length 
fallen  asleep,  so  she  set  them  down  upon  the 
table  by  her  side,  and  went  out  to  meet  the 
doctor,  whose  sleigh  had  just  stopped  on  the 
opposite  side  of  the  street. 

He  shook  off  the  snow,  and  dried  himself  by 
the  kitchen  fire,  waiting  to  say  a  few  pleasant 
words  to  Molly,  and  to  pat  Lizzie  upon  the  head ; 
then  quietly  entered  the  sick  room  with  tha 
nurse. 


92         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  How  long  has  she  been  asleep  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  Not  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes," 
Mrs.  Scott  replied. 

"  How  long  did  she  sleep  last  night  ?  " 

"  Not  one  second,  doctor.  She  slept  last,  an 
hour,  yesterday  afternoon." 

"  She  is  much  weaker,  to-day." 

"  Yes.  She  is  failing  very  rapidly,  it  seems  to 
me." 

He  nodded  assent, 

"  How  long  can  she  last,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Probably  not  more  than  a  day  or  two,  at  the 
longest." 

"  Will  she  be  likely  to  have  an  easy  death  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell.  But  I  think  she  will  die  like 
the  snuffing  out  of  a  candle.  It's  a  sad  case  for 
the  children.  Has  any  provision  been  made  for 
them  ?  " 

"  None  that  I  know  of.     But  from  what  Mrs. 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  93 

Staniford  has  said  to  me,  I  think  she  will  adopt 
the  youngest,  if  Mrs.  Forbes  is  willing. 

"  And  no  doubt  she  will  be.  And  yet,  it  seema 
a  pity  to  separate  them.  Have  they  no  rela- 
tives ?  " 

"  None  living,  I  believe.  Doctor  !  you  have 
no  children.  Why  couldn't  you  take  Johnny  ? 
He  is  such  an  affectionate  boy  !  and  his  mother 
is  so  anxious,  at  times,  about  his  future.  I 
think  it  would  be  a  great  relief  to  her,  if  she 
could  know  just  who  will  care  for  him  when  she 
is  gone.  I  shall  take  him,  if  you  do  not ;  but 
the  boy  needs  a  father's  watchfulness  and  author- 
ity, or  will  need  it,  as  he  grows  older.  I  am 
very  audacious,  am  I  not  ?  but  I  feel  nearly  as 
much  interest  in  him  as  his  own  mother  does." 

The  doctor  smiled. 

"  You  are  certainly  a  good  advocate,"  he  re- 
plied. "  Do  you  know  I  have  been  considering 


94         The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

that  very  plan,  myself  ?  As  you  say,  I  have  no 
children,  and  my  wife  and  I  have  fairly  entered 
upon  the  '  down  hill '  of  life.  " 

"  Ah  !  why  separate  them,  doctor  ?  Why  not 
take  Molly  and  Johnny  both  ?  You'll  never  be 
sorry  for  it,  and  think  how  much  happier  it  will 
make  them  !  It  would  be  very  lonely  for  either 
in  your  great  house,  without  the  other,  and  no 
young  faces  to  look  upon.  And  they  are  such 
good  children,  and  so  attached  to  each  other  !  " 

"  I  see  how  it  is,"  he  replied,  good-humoredly. 
"  I've  given  you  an  inch,  and  you're  going  to 
take  an  ell.  Mrs.  Scott,  let  me  advise  you  to 
leave  off  nursing,  and  practice  law,  or  else  solicit 
for  life-insurance." 

"  Ah !  that  is  raillery.  I  can  only  plead  well 
where  my  heart  is  interested,  doctor.  I  love  the 
children,  and  I  love  their  mother,  and  it  would 
grieve  me  deeply  to  feel  that  they  must  be  home- 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  95 

less  as  well  as  motherless.  But  they  shall  not  be 
homeless !  for,  as  I  said,  if  you  do  not  adopt  them 
for  yours,  I  shall  for  mine." 

"  Well,  Mrs.  Scott,  I  will  consider  the  matter, 
and  consult  my  wife.  I  am  a  little  afraid  that 
the  care  of  both  will  be  too  much  of  a  burden  for 
her." 

"  Don't  think  so,  doctor,  or  let  her  think  so, 
please ;  for  I  assure  you,  Molly  is  a  very  capable 
child,  unusually  so  for  one  of  her  years.  She  is 
busy,  apt,  and  neat ;  and  would  be  far  more  help 
to  Mrs.  Bowles  than  trouble.  Do  persuade  her 
that  it  will  be  for  her  advantage  to  take  Molly, 
as  I  am  sure  it  will.  When  you  are  old,  Mrs. 
Bowles  will  need  a  daughter  quite  as  much  as 
you  will  need  a  son.  And,  indeed,  she  will  need 
both  son  and  daughter  more  than  you." 

"  You  expect  to  gain  your  point,  I  see,  Mrs. 
Scott." 


96         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  I  hope  to,  certainly.'* 

"  Well,  you  deserve  to.  And  I  shouldn't  won- 
der if  you  did.  I  will  let  you  know  our  decision 
to-morrow." 

It  was  late  in  the  afternoon  when  Mrs.  Stam- 
ford came  to  make  her  inquiries  for  the  welfare 
of  the  invalid ;  and  Mrs.  Scott  noticed  at  once 
that  she  was  bearing  the  weight  of  some  new 
sorrow,  or  else  that  the  old  griefs  were  growing 
heavier.  An  irresistible  yearning  to  say  some 
comforting  word  to  this  woman  who  had  been 
more  than  a  mother  to  her  in  her  own  great 
trouble,  impelled  her  to  answer  Mrs.  Stamford's 
query,  "  Is  there  anything  I  can  do  to-day,  Lucy  ? 
Is  anything  needed  ?  "  with,  "  Yes.  We  must 
see  you.  Cannot  you  come  hi  for  a  few  min- 
utes?" 

Mrs.  Staniford  gave  some  directions  to  Peter, 
and  stepped  out  of  the  sleigh. 


Blessed  are  the  Comforters.  9T 

"  Is  Mrs.  Forbes  worse  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  fear  she  is  much  weaker.  But  she  is  rest- 
ing now.  She  has  been  very  drowsy  ever  since 
eleven  o'clock  in  the  forenoon.  Molly,  will  you 
take  your  sewing,  and  sit  with  your  mother  for  a 
few  minutes  ?  If  she  stirs,  call  me  immediately." 

When  they  were  alone,  Mrs.  Scott  clasped  her 
arms  around  Mrs.  Stamford's  neck  and  whis- 
pered,— 

"Mother,  dear,  whatever  it  is,  let  me  help 
you  bear  it.  You  have  been  so  good  to  me !  — 
so  tender  and  kind  !  And  we  have  at  least  one 
grief  in  common.  You  know,  too,  that  I  love 
you." 

Ah  !  who  that  had  seen  Mrs.  Staniford  only  a 
few  minutes  before,  when  she  sat  erect  in  her 
sumptuously  furnished  sleigh,  with  its  costly 
mountings,  and  Axminster  carpet,  and  Persian 
rugs,  its  damask  cushions,  and  tiger-skin  robes, 
7 


98         The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

and  blooded  horses,  rich  sables  wrapped  about 
her,  and  jewels  sparkling  at  her  throat,  could 
have  imagined  her  weeping  upon  the  shouldei 
of  this  poor  serving- woman, —  for  such  she  really 
was,  and  accusing  her  wealth  of  being  a  mill- 
stone about  her  neck  and  the  necks  of  her 
children,  to  plunge  them  into  misery  and 
perdition  ? 


CHAPTER   VI. 

NEW  HOMES, 

||  E  ARIL  Y  — oh!      how     wearily,     Mrs. 
^P    Forbes  dragged  through  another  night, 
sinking  slowly,  but  surely.     The  doctor 
came  early  in  the  morning. 

"  I  think,"  said  he,  in  answer  to  Mrs.  Scott's 
questioning,  "  that  she  cannot  last  through  the 
day.  About  the  children,  madam.  I  have 
talked  my  wife  over.  We  will  take  the  two 
eldest,  if  Mrs.  Forbes  consents.  Have  you 
spoken  with  her  about  it  ?  " 

(99) 


100       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford '«  Folly. 

"  No.     Shall  I  do  so  this  forenoon  ?  " 

«  Yes, —  you  had  better.  Her  life  now  must 
be  reckoned  by  hours  —  if  not  by  minutes. 
Would  you  like  to  talk  with  her  alone  ?  If  so,  I 
will  retire." 

"  Wait,  please, —  here  in  the  kitchen,  if  you 
will.  She  may  have  something  to  say  to  you ; 
though  indeed  she  seems  stupid, —  notices  but 
little,  apparently,  that  is  going  on,  andjnay  not 
realize  what  I  shall  tell  her." 

"  I  will  wait,  however.  Where  are  the 
children  ?  " 

"  Johnny  has  gone  to  the  store  for  me,  but  he 
will  be  back  soon,  and  Molly  and  Lizzie  are 
making  up  Johnny's  bed." 

"  Never  mind,  then.  I  did  not  want  them  for 
anything  in  particular." 

Mrs.  Scott  returned  to  the  sick  room,  where 
her  patient  lay,  with  half-shut  eyes,  almost 
motionless. 


New  Homes.  101 

"  Mrs.  Forbes !  "  she  called,  softly,  for  she 
rightly  guessed  that  the  poor  woman  was  not 
asleep. 

Her  eyelids  unclosed. 

"  Well,  Lucy  ?  "  she  whispered. 

"  Did  you  know,  dear,  that  you  were  very 
near  jour  end  ?  —  that  you  cannot  be  with  us 
many  hours  longer  ?  " 

And  she  sat  down  beside  her,  and  took  the 
sufferer's  wasted  hand  in  her  own. 

"  Ah !  thank  God !  "  Mrs.  Forbes  murmured. 
"  I  shall  —  welcome  —  death." 

"  Yes.  It  will  be  sweetest  rest  for  you.  And 
the  children  —  " 

She  pressed  the  nurse's  hand. 

"  I  thought,  Mrs.  Forbes,  that  it  would  make 
your  last  moments  happier  to  know  that  they 
need  not  be  homeless.  Mrs.  Stamford  would 
like  to  adopt  Lizzie,  and  Doctor  Bowles  only 


102       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

waits  your  consent  to  provide  Johnny  and  Molly 
with  a  pleasant  home  beneath  his  own  roof,  and 
a  father's  and  mother's  care.  Are  you  willing  to 
trust  him?" 

But  the  invalid  closed  her  eyes,  and  did  not 
answer. 

Mrs.  Scott  thought  her  sinking  into  a  stupor, 
and  called,  gently,  — 

"  Mrs.  Forbes  !  " 

"  Yes,  Lucy,"  she  replied,  faintly.  "  I  heard 
you  speak.  But  I  am  —  talking  —  with  — 
Christ,  now." 

She  moved  her  lips,  as  though  in  prayer; 
and  Mrs.  Scott  did  not  disturb  her.  At  length 
she  looked  up,  and  said,  — 

"Call  the  —  children,  Lucy!  Call  — Mrs. 
Staniford.  Call  —  Doctor  —  Bowles."  And 
then  added,  "  Quick !  It  is  coming." 

Hastily  stepping  to  the  door,  the  nurse  found 


New  Homes.  103 

them  gathered  in  the  kitchen,  the  doctor,  Mrs. 
Staniford,  who  had  picked  up  Johnny  on  the 
way,  and  taken  him  to  Vine  Street  in  her  sleigh, 
Molly, and  Lizzie. 

She  beckoned  to  the  doctor. 

"  Come,"  she  said.  "  Come,  Mrs.  Staniford. 
Come  children." 

Mrs.  Staniford  led  in  Lizzie,  followed  by 
Molly  and  Johnny,  and  the  doctor.  Poor  Molly 
was  already  crying,  and  Johnny  struggling  hard 
to  keep  back  the  tears. 

Mrs.  Scott  poured  some  wine  into  a  glass,  and 
held  it  to  the  dying  woman's  lips,  carefully  sup- 
porting her  head,  as  she  did  so. 

"  Sip  slowly,"  she  said.     "  It  will  revive  you." 

Mrs.  Forbes  sipped  twice,  and  then  held  out 
her  hand  to  little  Lizzie. 

"  Come,"  she  whispered.  "  Molly,  —  and  — 
Jolmny." 


104       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

They  drew  near  her,  knowing  that  it  was  for 
farewell,  now,  rather  than  greeting.  The  last 
farewell ;  and  they  sobbed  aloud. 

"Don't,  darlings!  Don't!"  pleaded  Mrs. 
Scott.  "  It  distresses  poor  mother.  Be  brave, 
Johnny,  and  remember  that  the  parting  is  not  to 
be  forever,  my  child ;  but  that  in  a  little  while, 
—  only  a  little  while,  for  life  is  short,  though  it 
seems  long  to  you,  I  know,  —  you  will  all  meet 
her  and  your  dear  father,  never  to  be  parted 
any  more." 

But  they  had  not  yet  learned  that  self-control 
which  comes  of  experience  in  suffering.  They 
were  tasting  the  bitterness  of  a  first  grief ;  and, 
being  but  children,  bore  it  after  the  fashion  of 
children,  —  naturally  ;  feeling,  poor  things !  as 
though  their  hearts  must  break.  But  few  hearts 
break  for  lost  love,  —  least  of  all,  the  hearts  of 
children. 


New  Homes.  105 

"  Kiss  me  —  Johnny !  "  whispered  the  dying 
mother.  "And  be  —  a  good  —  son — to  your 
new — parents.  Love  them  —  and  obey  them. 
That  will  —  be  proof — that  —  you  loved  —  me. 
Molly !  You  have  —  been  —  very  —  dutiful, 
my  child  ;  and  a  great  —  help  —  to  mother.  Let 
it  —  comfort  —  you  when  I'm  gone,  —  that  you 
did  —  the  best  —  you  could,  —  and  —  that 
mother  —  blessed  you  —  for  it.  Lizzie  !  my 
baby  !  —  God  —  keep  you,  —  darling.  Be  —  a 
good  —  little  —  daughter  —  to  —  " 

She  fell  back  exhausted,  and  it  was  some 
seconds  before  she  could  drink  the  wine  they 
offered  her. 

Once  more  she  essayed  to  speak. 

"  Doctor  Bowles  —  tell  —  your  dear  wife  —  " 

She  gasped  for  breath,  and  her  words  could 
no  longer  be  distinguished.  Clasping  between 
her  wasted  palms  little  Lizzie's  tiny  fingers, 


106       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford 's  Folly. 

sleep  stole  over  her,—  the  sleep  she  had  longed 
for,  —  rest  eternal.  So  swiftly  it  came,  yet  so 
sweetly,  that  they  waited  to  hear  her  voice  again, 
thinking  that  the  silence  was  only  momentary, 
as  before;  but  the  doctor,  who  had  stooped 
over  her,  to  catch,  if  possible,  the  message  she 
had  striven  to  utter,  no  longer  felt  the  flutter  of 
uneven  breath  against  his  cheek,  and,  laying  his 
hand  upon  her  heart,  found  that  it  had  ceased 
beating. 

"  She  is  dead,"  he  said, quietly. 

Then  Mrs.  Staniford  gathered  Lizzie  to  her 
bosom,  and  softly  cried  over  the  little  motherless 
lamb,  while  Molly  laid  her  head  upon  her 
mother's  pillow,  sobbing  distressfully;  and 
Johnny,  kneeling  down  by  the  side  of  her  whom 
he  had  so  loved,  covered  her  wan,  motionless 
fingers  with  passionate  kisses  and  tears 

It  was  a   touching  sight ;   and   even  Doctor 


New  Homes.  107 

Bowles,  accustomed  as  he  was  to  scenes  of 
sorrow,  and  death-bed  partings,  felt  the  moisture 
gather  upon  his  own  eyelids,  while  his  large 
heart  yearned  toward  the  desolate  orphans. 

Mrs.  Scott  stole  an  arm  about  Molly. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  gently,  "  this  is 
not  right.  You  will  make  yourself  ill.  Remem- 
ber, mother  is  no  longer  here.  She  is  with  the 
angels.  Come  away,  Molly.  Come,  Johnny. 
Let  us  go  into  your  bed-room  for  a  few 
moments." 

They  followed  her  ;  and  by  Johnny's  bed,  she 
knelt  between  them,  and  prayed  the  Saviour  to 
comfort  them  in  their  loneliness  and  grief.  And 
then  she  left  them  together. 

In  a  few  minutes  Mrs.  Carter  came  over  to 
assist  Mrs.  Scott,  and  when  she  went  back,  took 
the  children  home  with  her  to  her  own  house, 
where  she  brooded  them  tenderly,  saying  such 


108       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford*  s  Folly. 

sweet,  soothing  words  in  her  own  cheery,  hr  .rty, 
trusting  way,  that  when  they  went  to  bed,  </heir 
hearts  were  lighter,  and  they  could  look  u^  to 
God,  feeling  that  his  seeming  cruelty  was  the 
voice  of  a  dearer  love  than  even  theirs.  Of 
course  they  could  not  fully  comprehend  ohis 
mystery  of  blessed  gain  through  bitter  loss  ,  but 
Johnny  and  Molly  were  both  thoughtful 
children, —  Molly,  especially ;  and  when  Oiey 
kissed  each  other  good-night  she  whispered,— 

"  Mother  isn't  poor  any  more,  Johnny,  ,md 
she  won't  cry  now  when  father's  birth-day  c\  dies 
round.  They're  both  happy ;  and  if  we're  £,ood 
and  try  to  do  as  mother  wanted  to  have  us,  w« 
shall  see  them  before  long.  You  know  Mrs 
Scott  said  so,  and  Mrs.  Carter  says  so,  too." 

The  funeral  took  place  on  Christmas-day,  and 
the  next  morning  Mrs.  Staniford  stopped  at 
Mrs.  Carter's,  and  took  the  children  into  her 


New  Homes.  109 

sleigh,  and  up  to  her  great  house  on  Hampton 
avenue ;  for  she  could  not  bear  that  they  should 
be  separated  yet. 

They  staid  with  her  till  the  next  Wednesday, 
and  then  Doctor  Bowles  came  for  Molly  and 
Johnny. 

It  was  hard  parting  with  dear  little  Lizzie,  but 
the  doctor  promised  that  they  should  see  her 
often,  and  so  they  were  comforted  in  a  measure. 

Mrs.  Bowles  met  them  at  the  door  with  open 
arms ;    and   though   she   was  much  older  than 
their  own   dear  mother,   they    felt    that    they 
should  learn  to  love  her  and  their  new  home,— 
as  they  did ;  and  that  very  soon. 

When  the  Christmas  holidays  were  over,  they 
went  back  to  school,  and  study  shortened  the 
tedious  tune  wonderfully,  and  kept  their  hearts 
healthy  and  hopeful.  The  winter  evenings 
seemed  long,  it  is  true,  but  they  were  nerer 


110       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford' s  Folly. 

really  lonely,  for  the  good  doctor  took  care  to 
provide  them  with  innocent  amusements, — 
games,  and  pictures,  and  stories ;  and  now  and 
then  three  or  four  children  living  in  the  neigh- 
borhood were  invited  in,  and  they  had  a  little 
music,  or  played  forfeits,  and  once  in  a  great 
while  were  permitted,  as  Johnny  expressed  it, 
to  have  "  a  high  old  time,"  and  make  all  the 
noise  they  cared  to. 

And  so  the  months  passed  away ;  and  the 
snow  was  gone,  and  the  hyacinths  and  tulips 
were  blossoming  in  the  doctor's  front  yard,  and 
the  trees  and  bushes  beginning  to  show  their 
spring  foliage  almost  before  they  knew  it. 

The  doctor  had  a  large  garden  behind  the 
house,  and  finding  that  Molly  loved  flowers,  ha 
provided  her  with  a  set  of  gardening  implements, 
and  instructed  her  how  to  keep  the  beds  clear  of 
weeds,  and  the  plants  free  from  worms  and  trouble- 
some insects. 


New  Homes.  Ill 

As  for  Johnny,  his  spare  moments  in  the 
morning  were  devoted  to  building  a  kennel  for 
the  doctor's  dog,  Nero,  with  whom  the  boy  was 
already  a  great  favorite  ;  and,  that  work  over,  to 
constructing  a  hennery  for  his  errant  chickens, 
who  were  beginning  to  make  bad  work  with 
Molly's  borders,  and  develop  a  wonderful  pre- 
cocity in  the  way  of  scratching  up  and  devouring 
freshly  sown  seeds. 

"  Molly !  you're  a  jewel !  "  said  the  doctor, 
one  day.  "  My  garden  never  looked  so  pretty 
as  it  does  now.  In  the  fall,  if  nothing  happens, 
I'm  going  to  set  out  a  strawberry-bed  at  the  far- 
ther end,  and  you  shall  see  how  many  straw- 
berries can  be  gathered  from  it  next  year  at  this 
time." 

"  I  should  like  to  help  take  care  of  that,  sir," 
said  Johnny,  who  was  standing  near. 

"Should  you?     Well,    we'll  have  it  large 


112       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

enough  for  both  of  you,  then,  and  perhaps  spare 
a  little  room  besides  for  a  few  turnips,  and  beets, 
and  carrots,  and  twenty  or  thirty  hills  of  corn 
and  potatoes." 

Johnny's  face  brightened. 

"  Then  I'll  have  fun  alive ! "  he  exclaimed. 
"  I  like  farming.  At  least,  I  think  I  should  like 
it,"  he  added. 

"I  do  —  in  theory,"  returned  the  doctor. 
"  But  in  practice,  I  want  it  on  a  small  scale,  and 
I  think  I'll  let  you  manage  my  farm  wholly,  my 
boy." 

A  day  or  two  afterwards,  Mrs.  Scott  came  to 
see  them,  and  obtained  a  promise  from  Mrs. 
Bowles  that  the  children  should  spend  a  month 
with  her  at  her  little  oottage,  a  few  miles  out  of 
Englewood. 

"  I  have  plenty  of  room,"  she  said,  "  and  shall 
be  at  home  all  summer ;  and  Mrs.  Staniford  is 
going  to  let  me  have  Lizzie,  besides." 


New  Homes.  113 

So  the  arrangement  was  made  ;  and  a  happier 
mouth  than  that,  Molly  and  Johnny  never  knew. 
For  Mrs.  Scott  devoted  herself  to  their  enjoy- 
ment; and  Johnny  privately  informed  Molly 
that  that  good  lady  was  the  jolliest  woman  he 
ever  saw." 

"  Jolly  "  was  Johnny's  word  for  "  merry  "  or 
"  happy ;  "  so  with  this  explanation  of  his  rather 
original  compliment  to  Mrs.  Scott's  genius  for 
entertaining  children,  I  let  his  summary  of  her 
excellences  stand. 

She  certainly  loved  the  orphaned  brother  and 
sister  dearly  ;  and,  after  their  visit,  came  often 
to  see  them  at  Mrs.  Bowles's,  stopping  with  them 
a  day  or.  two  when  she  could  spare  the  time  from 
her  nursing.  On  such  occasions,  Mrs.  Bowles 
sent  for  Lizzie,  and  they  had  what  Mrs.  Scott 
called,  a  "  reunion." 

It  was  now  just   a  year   since  Mrs.  Forbes's 
8 


114       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford* 8  Folly. 

death  ;  and  out  of  respect  to  her  memory,  Mrs. 
Bowles  put  off  the  children's  party  until  New 
Year's.  Christmas  was  a  very  quiet  day  at  the 
doctor's.  In  the  forenoon  he  took  the  children 
in  his  sleigh  to  the  cemetery,  and  they  laid  in  the 
snow  upon  their  mother's  grave,  a  beautiful  ever- 
green cross  and  two  wreaths,  which  Mrs.  Bowles 
had  helped  them  twine  ;  and  an  anchor  in  ama- 
ranth and  white  eternal  flowers,  which  Mrs. 
Staniford  had  sent,  upon  their  father's. 

On  their  return,  they  found  Mrs.  Scott  and 
Lizzie  waiting  for  them,  and  all  sat  down  to  a 
bountiful  Christmas  dinner. 

Johnny  was  very  happy  and  thankful,  though 
rather  more  silent  than  was  his  wont;  and  I 
think  Molly  would  have  shared  his  feelings  fully, 
but  for  a  shade  of  envy,  so  slight  indeed,  that 
she  was  scarcely  conscious  of  it,  excited  by 
Lizzie's  beautiful  new  silk  dress,  ermine  tippet 


New  Homes.  115 

and  muff,  and  pink  velvet  hat  trimmed  with  its 
shaded  ostrich  tips.  Then,  too,  when  Mrs. 
Bowles  had  removed  her  pretty  white  cloak, 
Molly's  quick  eyes  had  caught  sight  of  an 
elegant  chain  encircling  her  sister's  neck,  from 
which  depended  a  dainty  enamelled  locket, 
containing  tiny  photographs  of  its  donors, 
Madge  and  Mabel  Rentz.  Its  beauties  she 
forthwith  inspected  narrowly,  Lizzie  unfastening 
the  slide  for  her,  that  she  might  the  better 
examine  it.  Ah !  how  Molly  admired  the 
pretty  trinket !  How  she  wished  it  were  hers  I 
And  then  the  tempter  whispered  to  her,  '  Why 
couldn't  Mrs.  Staniford  have  adopted  you 
instead  of  Lizzie  ?  Lizzie  doesn't  care  for  these 
fine  things  half  so  much  as  you  would.' 

That  was  the  reason  why  Molly's  dinner  did 
not  taste  quite  so  good  to  her  as  it  did  to 
Johnny,  who  could  not  help  choking  every  now 


116       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

and  then  when  he  thought  of  Doctor  and  Mrs. 
Bowles's  goodness  in  taking  him  from  the 
desolate  home  on  Vine  street,  and  surrounding 
him  with  so  many  comforts  which  he  felt  he  had 
never  deserved. 

*'  I  love  them  both  !  "  he  said  to  himself  with 
a  swelling  heart ;  "  and  I'll  never  do  anything 
to  make  them  regret  having  cared  for  me ; 
never !  so  long  as  I  live  1 " 

They  had  each  received  a  handsomely  bound 
and  illustrated  book  as  theii  Christinas  gift  from 
the  doctor,  and  Mrs.  Bowles  had  laid  under 
Johnny's  pillow  the  night  before,  half  a  dozen 
white  handkerchiefs  and  a  neck- tie ;  while  Molly 
had  discovered  on  her  bureau  upon  waking,  a 
Fayal  work-basket  she  had  once  coveted,  fur- 
nished throughout,  even  to  a  new  silver  thimble 
with  her  name  engraved  upon  it,  and  an  ebony 
tatting-shuttle  in  one  of  the  pockets. 


New  Homes.  117 

It  had  delighted  her  at  the  time,  and  she  had 
expressed  her  gratitude  very  fluently  and  feel- 
ingly at  breakfast,  and  now  she  had  seen  some- 
thing prettier  and  far  more  costly,  and  she  began 
to  be  a  trifle  dissatisfied  with  what  by  compar- 
ison seemed  so  inferior  to  Lizzie's  gifts. 

In  the  evening,  Mrs.  Scott  borrowed  the 
doctor's  chess-men, —  rather  a  dilapidated  set, 
and  taught  Johnny  the  moves  of  the  game,  and 
having  set  him  to  work  upon  a  problem  in  one  of 
the  doctor's  Chess  Monthlies,  which  Johnny 
was  confident  he  could  solve  without  assistance, 
his  instructress's  opinion  to  the  contrary  not- 
withstanding, she  took  Lizzie  upon  her  lap,  and 
putting  her  arm  about  Molly,  told  them  pleasant 
stories  out  of  her  own  experience,  or  from  books 
she  had  read  when  she  was  herself  a  child ; 
while  Mrs.  Bowles  sat  near  them,  knitting  a  pair 
of  mittens  for  Johnny,  happy  in  the  children's 


118       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford? s  Folly. 

enjoyment,  and  wishing  the  doctor's  patients 
would  at  least  leave  him  his  holidays. 

Meantime,  Molly's  fingers  still  toyed  with  her 
sister's  locket  and  chain ;  and  Mrs.  Scott 
divining  perhaps,  what  was  in  the  child's  heart, 
asked, — 

"  Is  it  not  very  handsome,  Molly  ?  " 

Molly  blushed  as  she  answered, — 

"  Yes'm." 

"Now  '  suppose,"  continued  Mrs.  Scott, 
"  that  the  Queen  of  England  and  her  princesses, 
and  the  Empress  of  France,  have  so  many  neck- 
laces that  are  so  much  richer  and  costlier  than 
this  of  Lizzie's,  that  they  would  scarcely  think 
it  worth  looking  at  in  the  comparison.  How 
would  you  like  to  be  an  empress,  Molly,  —  or 
a  princess  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Molly,  looking  askance 
at  Mrs.  Bowles. 


New  Homes.  119 

"I  want  to  tell  you  a  true  story  of  a  man 
who  died  not  long  since,  who  was  cousin  to  the 
French  emperor,  and  lived  in  the  Tuileries. 
Do  you  know  anything  about  the  Tuileries, 
Molly?" 

Johnny  looked  upr  quickly  from  his  chess 
problem,  over  which  he  was  puzzling  with  very 
indifferent  success,  and  replied,  — 

"  I  do,  Mrs.  Scott.  It  is  the  emperor's  palace 
on  the  Seine  in  Paris,  —  the  very  one  that  the 
mob  sacked  when  they  rebelled  against  Louis 
XVI.,  and  beheaded  him  and  Marie  Antoinette. 
I  shouldn't  want  to  be  a  prince  or  an  emperor. 
Their  heads  are  never  safe ;  and  if  their  heads 
do  seem  to  be,  sometimes  they're  likely  to  lose 
their  power  and  be  no  better  off  than  some  of 
their  poor  subjects." 

"Still,  if  one  could  be  sure  of  crown  and 
sceptre,  and  the  affections  of  the  people,  it 


120       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

would  be  very  pleasant,  —  would  it  not  ?  —  to 
be  powerful  and  have  plenty  of  money  at  one's 
disposal,  and  live  at  ease,  the  admiration  and 
envy  of  everybody  else  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know  about  that,"  returned  Johnny. 
"  They  say  Queen  Victoria  has  to  do  what  her 
counsellors  tell  her  to,  even  about  having  parties, 
and  such  things,  and  that  they  find  fault  because 
she  wears  mourning  for  Prince  Albert.  Now  I 
should  think  that  when  it  comes  to  that,  and  a 
sovereign  can't  do  just  as  he  or  she  has  a  mind 
to'  do,  but  must  do  as  others  say,  they  were 
worse  off  than  the  poorest  person  in  the  United 
States,  who  can  do  pretty  much  as  he  pleases, 
provided  he  don't  break  any  of  the  laws.  I 
think  folks'  '  houses '  are  their '  castles '  here  ;  but 
I  don't  think  kings'  palaces  are  their  *  castles,' 
or  they  wouldn't  get  kicked  out  of  them  as  often 
as  they  are,  or  be  told  what  they  must  do  and 


New  Homes.  121 

what  they  mustn't  do,  and  how  they  must  be- 
have, and  what  compan}r  they  may  have,  and  so 
forth,  while  they  do  stay  in  them." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Molly,  "  but  the  queen  has  such 
splendid  jewels,  and  the  empress  has  such 
beautiful  dresses!  and  she  sets  all  the  fashions 
besides ! " 

"  Pooh !  fine  clothes  don't  make  folks  any 
better  or  happier,"  returned  Johnny.  "  And 
as  for  the  fashions,  nobody  cares  for  them  only 
silly  women,"  and  he  went  back  to  his  chess, 
setting  himself  to  his  work  with  his  head 
between  his  hands  and  his  brow  knitted,  as 
much  as  to  say,  "  I've  delivered  my  opinion,  and 
yon  won't  hear  from  me  again  this  evening." 

"  But.  children,"  said  Mrs.  Bowles,  "  you've 
interrupted  Mrs.  Scott's  story  about  the 
emperor's  cousin,  and  I,  for  one,  am  qiute 
anxious  to  hear  it." 


122       The  Stamfords  of  Stanifortf  s  Folly. 

*k  So  am  I,"  said  Molly.  "  I'll  be  quiet,  now, 
Mrs.  Scott,  and  not  say  another  word.'' 

"  Well,  my  dear,  his  name  was  Bacciochi ;  the 
Count  Bacciochi.  I  fancy  he  was  an  Italian,  but 

of  that  I  am  not  certain.     At  all  events,  he  was 

» 

born  of  wealthy  and  distinguished  parents,  and 
never  knew  what  it  was  to  suffer  want.  When 
he  became  a  man,  the  emperor  desired  him  to 
come  to  Paris  and  live,  and  made  him  First 
Chamberlain,  Master  of  Ceremonies  at  the 
Imperial  Court,  and  Superintendent  of  the 
Imperial  Theatres.  He  was  very  elegant  in 
appearance,  I  suspect,  and  he  must  have  been 
a  perfect  gentleman,  or  he  would  never  have 
had  so  responsible  a  position.  You  see  it  was 
he  who  had  charge  of  all  the  receptions  at  the 
Tuileries,  made  out  the  lists  of  invitation,  and 
sent  out  the  beautifully  embossed  and  gilt- 
engraved  cards  to  the  guests  ;  and  nobody  could 


New  Homes.  123 

be  presented  to  the  emperor,  or  come  to  the 
emperor's  parties,  except  through  Count  Baccio- 
chi.  He  wore  resplendent  liveries,  and  had 
seventeen  grand  crosses  of  honor  from  the  differ- 
ent sovereigns  of  Europe,  each  one  magnifi- 
cent in  gold  and  precious  stones.  Everybody 
liked  him,  and  the  emperor  was  his  particular 
friend,  and  made  him  the  most  valuable  presents. 
People  who  met  him  at  the  grand  entertain- 
ments, or  heard  of  him  outside,  envied  him  his 
power,  and  wealth,  and  station,  and  doubtless 
thought  within  themselves,  '  What  a  happy  man 
the  Count  Bacciochi  must  be  !  How  fortunate  a 
thing  to  be  of  noble  birth  and  cousin  to  the 
emperor !  What  would  I  not  give  if  I  were 
only  in  his  place ! ' 

"  But,  children,  Count  Bacciochi  was  anything 
but  a  happy  man.  He  was  a  terrible  sufferer 
for  many,  many  years,  and  was  glad  at  length  to 


124       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

lay  down  his  power,  and  wealth,  and  high 
sounding  name,  and  be  forever  at  rest.  His 
nerves  of  motion  were  seriously  affected,  so  that 
he  could  never  be  quiet  more  than  a  few  seconds 
at  a  time  without  the  most  dreadful  pain.  He 
ate  as  he  walked,  dictated  to  others  what  to 
write  for  him,  while  pacing  his  room,  and  even 
did  most  of  his  reading  tramp-tramping  up  and 
down  a  long,  wide,  corridor  of  the  Tuileries, 
which  the  emperor  had  ordered  carpeted  for 
him  with  one  of  the  thickest,  richest  carpets  a 
loom  ever  wove.  Sometimes  he  could  not  sleep. 
Then  he  would  try  a  dull  book,  and  if  that 
failed  him,  walk,  walk,  until  he  became  so 
exhausted,  that  his  nerves  felt  no  pain,  and  if 
sleep  had  not  come  he  must  have  died.  Once 
he  walked  for  thirty-six  hours  without  stopping, 
trying  to  subdue  his  pain  through  forced  weari- 
ness ;  and  the  soles  of  his  feet  were  always  red 


New  Homes. 

as  though  the  blood  were  coming  through  the 
skin.  When  he  went  to  concerts,  or  the  opera 
—  for  he  was  very  fond  of  music  —  he  always 
went  to  his  own  box,  which  the  emperor  had 
had  furnished  expressly  for  him,  and  screened 
from  the  audience  by  a  beautiful  gilded  lattice 
work.  There  was  no  seat  in  it,  but  there  was  a 
heavy  carpet  upon  the  floor,  and  he  could  walk 
without  being  either  heard  or  seen,  —  poor  man  ! 
At  last  he  died,  because  sleep  refused  to  come 
to  him,  and  his  worn-out  frame  could  no  longer 
be  supported  upon  his  tottering  feet.  Racked 
with  pain,  he  earnestly  desired  release.  For 
years  life  had  been  not  pleasure,  but  the  most 
torturing  suffering,  and  in  the  grave  alone  could 
he  ever  hope  for  rest.  Do  you  think,  Molly, 
that  those  people  who  envied  him,  and  wished 
they  could  take  his  place,  would  have  been 
willing:  to  bear  the  torture  he  bore  for  the 


126       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  JFoily. 

sake  of  his  power  and  wealth,  and  the  flattery 
of  admirers,  and  the  emperor's  favor  and 
smiles?" 

*'  No,  indeed  I "  said  Molly.  "  And  wasn't 
it  too  bad,  Mrs.  Scott  ?  " 

"  It  was  very,  very  sad,  I  think.  Imagine  how 
he  must  have  felt,  when  surrounded  with  the 
gayety  in  the  midst  of  which  it  was  his  duty  to 
be  so  often,  when  he  saw  others  so  full  of  life 
and  spirits, —  in  perfect  health,  free  from  any 
physical  suffering, —  if  weary,  able  to  lie  down 
and  repose  sweetly,  and  then  awake  refreshed, 
guessing  nothing  of  his  own  restless  agony  of 
body,  which  would  not  permit  him  to  be  other- 
wise than  wretched  in  mind,  as  well,  in  view  of 
his  unhappy  lot.  Ah,  Molly  dear  !  station,  rank, 
and  riches  are  not  always  to  be  coveted.  The 
wealthy  people  you  and  I  know,  and  see,  and 
hear  of,  are  not  the  happy  ones  by  any  means. 


New  Homes.  127 

There's  almost  always  a  something  with  the 
wealth  which  takes  off  the  edge  of  their  enjoy- 
ment of  it,  and  frequently  makes  its  possessors 
even  hate  it.  You  know  we  hear  it  said  that 
poverty  is  a  bitter  trial.  But  wealth  is  a  trial 
which  is  not  unfrequently  ten  times  as  hard  to 
bear.  Great  temptations  come  with  the  posses- 
sion of  large  fortunes,  as  money  is  apt  to  render 
people,  selfish,  sordid,  vain,  and  sensual;  it  -sup- 
plies the  means  of  gratifying  evil  appetites  and 
passions  :  and  ruins  in  soul  as  well  as  in  body  a 
great  many  more  men  than  it  benefits  and  enno- 
bles. Sometimes  when  people  desire  it  very 
much,  God  gives  it  to  them ;  in  order,  I  think,  to 
show  them  what  a  curse  it  may  become  to  those 
who  set  their  hearts  upon  it.  And  sometimes 
Satan  pushes  men  so  far  in  their  madness  for 
grasping  wealth,  that  they  commit  the  most 
dreadful  crimes  in  order  to  secure  it.  How  many 


128       The  Stamfords  of  Stanford's  Folly. 

good  men,  even,  in  a  moment  of  temptatio  n,  have 
thrown  away  reputation  and  character  for  a  few 
thousand  or  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  how 
many  gamblers,  swindlers,  thieves,  burglars,  and 
murderers,  are  annually  committed  to  prison,  or 
swing  from  the  gallows  because  they  coveted 
what  did  not  belong  to  them  !  " 

"  But  if  I  had  money,"  said  Molly,  "  I  wouldn't 
do  any  of  those  wicked  things.  I  would  try  and 
do  good  with  it,  and  help  people  that  were  poor, 
and  send  ever  so  much  to  the  missionaries." 

Mrs.  Scott  smiled. 

"  You  think  you  would,  I've  no  doubt,  my 
dear.  But  if  God  were  to  try  you,  I'm  afraid 
you  would  do  very  much  as  others  have  done 
who  have  cherished  very  benevolent  intentions, 
but  have  altered  their  plans  rather  suddenly 
upon  coming  into  possession  of  the  longed  for 
treasures.  Now  I'm  not  certain,  Molly,  but  I 


New  Homes.  129 

think  that  if  you  were  to  find  quite  unexpectedly 
in  the  palm  of  this  little  hand  I  hold  in  mine,  two 
twenty  dollar  gold  pieces  done  up  in  a  paper 
marked 'For  Molly,'  your  first  thought  would 
be, —  not  '  Oh  !  now  I  can  give  that  to  the  ciiy 
missionary  for  the  poor  people  who  need  coal, 
and  flour,  and  clothing,  this  winter ! '  nor,  *  How 
pleased  the  Treasurer  of  the  American  Board 
will  be  to  send  my  forty  dollars  to  aid  the  schools 
in  Turkey  !  I'm  so  glad  I  can  do  so  much  for 
the  poor  women  and  girls  in  that  far-away  coun- 
try who  haven't  the  advantages  I  enjoy ! '  but, 
'Now  I  can  have  a  necklace  and  locket  as  hand- 
some as  Lizzie's,  and  I'll  buy  it  to-morrow. 
Wouldn't  that  be  it  ?  or  didn't  I  read  Molly's 
thoughts  correctly  when  she  examined  and  re- 
examined  her  sister's  pretty  gift,  looking  at  it  so 
admiringly  and  longingly  ?  " 

Molly  blushed,  and   Mrs.  Scott  drawing  her 
closer,  kissed  her  forehead  tenderly.        9 


1 30       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  My  dear  child,"  she  said,  "  God  knows  us 
better  than  we  know  ourselves,  for  he  made  us. 
He  knows  just  what  we  would  do  and  be,  under 
all  other  possible  circumstances  ;  and,  because  he 
loves  us,  he  keeps  us  out  of  the  reach  of  a  great 
many  dangers  which  look  exceedingly  attractive 
to  us,  but  would  rob  us  of  charity,  truth,  purity, 
loveliness,  peace,  —  perhaps,  even  of  heaven 
itself.  Ask  Mrs.  Bowles  if  that  is  not  so. 
Christ  said,  '  Lay  not  up  for  yourselves  treasures 
on  earth,'  and  again,  'How  hardly  shall  they 
that  have  riches  enter  into  the  kingdom  of 
heaven ! '  St.  Paul,  too,  wrote  to  Timothy, 
*  They  that  will  be  riqh,'  — that  means,  '  those 
who  are  determined  to  get  wealth,'  '  fall  into 
temptation,  and  a  snare,  and  into  many  foolish 
and  hurtful  lusts,  which  drown  men  in  destruc- 
tion and  perdition.  For  the  love  of  money  is 
the  root  of  all  evil ;  which,  while  some  coveted 


New  HoinKis.  131 


after,  they  have  erred  from  the  faith,  and  pierced 
themselves  through  with  many  sorrows.'  I 
could  add  St.  James's  testimony  on  that  point, 
but  I've  prosed  long  enough,  I  think,  and  I'm 
afraid  both  you  and  Lizzie  are  getting  sleepy." 


CHAPTER 

A  8TOEM  AT  STANIFOKD's  FOLLY. 

NE  lovely,  balmy  morning  in  the  middle 
of  May,  Mrs.  Stamford's  carriage  stopped 
at  Doctor  Bowles's  door,  and  Peter 
delivered  into  Katy's  hands,  for  Mrs.  Bowles, 
the  following  note;  — 

DEAR  MRS.  BOWLES:  — 

As  the  day  promises  to  be 

cloudless,  and  the  air  is  mild,  I  propose  to  give  a 
little  picnic  to  the  children,  in  the  grove  and  on 
the  lawn.  My  daughter,  Mrs.  Rentz,  is  here 
from  Chicago,  with  her  little  ones;  then  there 

(132) 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.          133 

are  Anna's  Edith,  my  Carl  and  Lizzie,  three 
small  cousins  of  Mr.  Stamford's  who  are  visiting 
with  us  for  a  few  weeks,  and  the  younger 
Seccombs  ;  —  quite  a  party,  you  see,  but  incom- 
plete, I  find,  without  Johnny  and  Molly.  There- 
fore, I  beg  you  let  them  join  us,  if  possible,  and 
I  will  see  that  they  arrive  home  safely  by 
nine  o'clock  this  evening. 

Yours  truly, 

M.  A.  STANTFOED. 

Peter  has  to  go  to  the  office,  and  then  do  one 
or  two  errands  for  Mr.  S.,  but  will  stop  on  his 
way  back,  and  get  the  children,  if  they  may 

come. 

M.  A.  S. 

It  was  Thursday,  and  a  school-day;  and 
Doctor  Bowles  was  never  favorable  to  any 
proposition  to  detain  Johnny  and  Molly  from 
school,  unless  it  were  on  account  of  illness.  He 
felt  the  importance,  not  only  of  attention  to 


134        The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

study,  and  correct  deportment  in  the  school-room, 
but  insisted  that  a  constant  and  punctual  daily 
attendance  was  necessary  to  systematic,  and 
therefore  beneficial  education;  and  that  even  a 
few  hours  absence  during  the  ordinary  sessions 
was  as  injurious  to  the  pupil  as  it  was  annoying 
to  the  teacher.  He  happened  to  be  at  home 
when  the  note  arrived,  and,  having  learned  its 
contents, — Mrs.  Bowles  handed  it  to  him  to  read, 
—  he  said,  "Decline  the  invitation,  Charlotte. 
It  is  very  kindly  meant,  but  you  and  I  must 
not  establish  a  bad  precedent.  We  will  make 
up  the  children's  loss  in  some  other  way." 

When  Peter  brought  Mrs.  Bowles's  answer, 
Mrs.  Staniford  was  in  the  kitchen  superintending 
the  preparations  for  the  collation  to  be  given 
under  the  big  tent  on  the  lawn,  so  Mrs.  Arnold 
took  the  note  and  read  &. 

This  was  what  it  said,  — 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.  135 

DEAB  MRS.  STANIFOED; 

Doctor   Bowles  and  my- 

gelf  fully  appreciate  your  generous  endeavors, 
and  thank  you  in  the  children's  behalf  for  your 
very  cordial  remembrance  of  them.  But  we 
feel  their  education  to  be  of  so  much  import- 
ance that  we  cannot  consent  to  their  sacrificing 
their  studies  for  mere  pleasure,  and  I  regret  to 
add  that  though  on  any  other  than  a  school-day 
we  should  be  very  glad  to  allow  them  all  the 
rational  enjoyment  Mrs.  Staniford  or  any  other 
of  our  kind  friends  might  provide,  we  must  in 
the  present  instance  ask  you  to  accept  our 
apology  for  their  absence  from  the  picnic  you 
propose. 

Very  truly  yours, 

CHABLOTTB  BOWLES. 

"  Mercy !  how  condescending !  "  was  Mrs. 
Arnold's  comment,  as  she  laid  it  down.  "  One 
would  suppose  the  Bowleses  were  somebody,  to 
read  that  1 " 


136       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  What's  the  matter,  now,  Anna  ? "  asked 
Mrs.  Rentz. 

'"  Nothing,  only  mother's  gone  and  invited 
those  two  little  Forbes  beggars  Mrs.  Bowles 
took  in,  to  come  and  spend  the  day  here,  and  has 
got  the  kick  for  it  she  might  have  expected." 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  not  a  lady,  or  she  would 
never  have  indulged  in  language  so  very  coarse  ; 
and  I  have  hesitated  not  a  little  about  portraying 
her  character  in  these  pages.  Still,  I  cannot 
show  you  fully  all  Mrs.  Stamford's  trials  unless 
I  do  so,  for  not  the  least  of  them  was  the  selfish, 
domineering,  fault-finding  disposition  of  this  ill- 
natured  eldest  daughter. 

She  was  not  a  widow,  as  Molly  and  Johnny 
had  supposed.  Her  husband,  who  had  been  a 
somewhat  notorious  stock-speculator  and  gamb- 
ler, had  deserted  her  after  ruining  her  brother ; 
and  she  had  quite  recently  obtained  a  divorce 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.          137 

from  him.  She  wore  her  mourning  for  a  child 
whom  she  had  buried,  but  over  whose  loss  she 
had  not  greatly  grieved.  I  think  she  put  it  on 
in  the  first  place  because  it  was  customary  to 
appear  to  mourn,  and  unfashionable  not  to, 
rather  than  on  account  of  any  real  respect  or 
affection  for  the  memory  of  her  infant ;  and  I 
know  that  she  kept  it  on  because  it  was  stylish 
and  becoming,  for  of  that  she  had  made  no 
secret. 

She  was  not  a  handsome  woman,  for  her 
features  were  large  and  masculine,  and  her 
expression  seldom  agreeable ;  but  she  had  a 
mass  of  heavy,  lustrous  black  hair,  which  she 
dressed  artistically,  and  a  commanding  figure ; 
and  she  could  appear  ladylike  when  she  chose, 
and  be  even  attractive,  despite  the  blunders  and 
inelegances  of  her  speech.  These  occasions, 
however,  were  rare  ;  and  she  never  wasted  her 
good  manners  upon  the  family,  I  assure  you. 


138       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford  s  Folly. 

The  servants,  while  they  stood  in  fear  of  her, 
disliked  her  heartily  ;  she  was  continually  quar- 
relling with  Horace  or  Carl,  and  criticising  her 
mother's  management  of  the  household,  ac- 
quaintances, dress,  plans,  motives, —  everything 
she  could  possibly  find  to  harp  upon  to  the 
discomfort  of  those  about  her.  She  stood,  it  is 
true,  in  a  little  fear  of  her  father,  upon  whom 
she  was  dependent,  and  prudently  refrained  from 
invectives  in  his  presence,  but  in  his  absence 
indulged  her  ill-temper  to  its  fullest  extent,  till 
she  fully  earned  for  herself  the  sobriquet,  by 
which  the  servants  always  called  her  when 
speaking  of  her  among  themselves,  of  "Tartar 
Arnold." 

When  Mrs.  Staniford  came  into  the  room 
leading  little  Lizzie,  she  rudely  tossed  her  mother 
Mrs.  Bowles's  note. 

"  There  !  read  that  I  "  she  exclaimed. 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.          139 

Of  course  it  fell  to  the  floor,  and  Lizzie, 
stooping,  picked  it  up,  Mrs.  Staniford  taking  it 
from  her  hand  with  a  smile,  and  "  Thank  you. 
darling." 

Mrs.  Arnold's  lip  curled  scornfully,  and  she 
darted  a  withering  look  at  the  child,  whom  she 
hated,  regarding  her  as  an  interloper,  and,  in 
some  sense,  Edith's  rival. 

Mrs.  Staniford  seated  herself  upon  the  tete-a- 
tete  near  the  window,  and  read  the  lines  which 
had  so  incensed  her  daughter,  then  folded  the 
note,  and  slipped  it  into  her  pocket. 

"  Well !  What  do  you  say  to  that  ?  "  demanded 
Mrs.  Arnold,  with  flashing  eyes.  "  I  call  it  the 
height  of  insolence." 

"  I  think  the  note  very  polite  and  proper," 
returned  Mrs.  Staniford,  calmly.  "  But  I  am 
sorry  that  the  children  cannot  come." 

44  Polite  ?   It's  audacious  I  insulting  !  I  declare, 


140       The  titanifords  of  Stamfords  Folly. 

I  don't  believe  you  know  when  you  are  snubbed, 
mother.  I  do  wish  you'd  begin  to  exercise  some 
discretion  about  the  people  you  put  yourself  on 
an  equality  with,  and  not  drag  the  family  down 
to  the  level  of  common  folks  and  paupers.  It 
isn't  pa's  way,  nor  Horace's,  nor  mine ;  and  I 
think  you  ought  to  have  some  consideration  for 
the  feelings  of  the  rest  of  the  Stanifords,  if  you 
haven't  any  respect  for  yourself." 

It  was  an  unkind  and  most  unfilial  speech,  but 
Mrs.  Staniford  replied  quite  gently, — 

"  Anna,  God's  *  level '  is  mine.  '  Common ' 
folks  or  *  uncommon/  we  are  all  made  out  of 
the  same  earth,  and  return  alike  to  dust ;  and 
there  is  no  respect  of  persons  with  Him  who 
breathed  into  us  the  breath  of  life.  With  Him, 
pride  and  wealth  rank  far  below  humility  and 
faith." 

"  Yes,"  added  Mrs.  Rentz,  who  had  scarcely 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.  141 

been  able  to  control  herself  at  Anna's  unfeeling 
treatment  of  her  mother.  "  If  we're  rich,  it's 
because  God  sends  us  what  we  have ;  and  we've 
no  right  to  exalt  ourselves  above  other  people  on 
the  strength  of  what  is  only  a  temporary  loan,  at 
best.  You  certainly  didn't  get  your  portion  of 
the  good  things  of  this  life,  Anna,  on  account  of 
your  deserts,  and  because  you  were  an  example 
of  filial  love  and  sisterly  amiability;  and  I  can't 
for  the  life  of  me  see  what  you  have  to  be  proud 
of." 

"  Oh,  one  preacher  at  a  time  is  enough,"  re- 
torted Mrs.  Arnold.  "  When  I  want  your 
opinion  or  advice,  I'll  ask  for  it,  thank  you. 
And  you're  as  fond  of  money  as  I  am." 

"  Yes.  I  do  like  money  very  well,"  returned 
her  sister.  "  It  is  very  useful,  and  I  hope  I  may 
never  know  the  want  of  it.  But  if  Fred  ever 
does  become  bankrupt,  —  and  I  realize  that  it 


142       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

isn't  impossible,  —  there's  one  thing  I  won't  do. 
You  won't  catch  me  coming  home  to  Englewood 
with  my  children  to  live  upon  pa,  and  abuse 
mother  to  pay  for  it,  under  the  bush.  I'll  work 
my  way  either  with  wits,  or  hands,  or  both.  At 
all  events,  I  won't  saddle  myself  upon  the  family 
for^  support.  I'm  not  proud  in  the  same  way 
that  you  are,  Anna.  But  I'm  too  proud  for 
that." 

"  Indeed !  "  was  Mrs.  Arnold's  rejoinder.  "  I 
should  very  much  like  to  see  your  incomparable 
and  unconquerable  independence  put  to  the  test. 
If  you  were  born  with  a  taste  for  manual  labor, 
and  a  talent  for  scrubbing  and  taking  in  washing, 
I  sincerely  hope  you  will  have  the  opportunity  to 
develop  it,  —  as  you  probably  will,  for  it  would 
be  a  pity  to  have  it  hid  away  in  a  millionaire's 
purse,  and  buried.  As  for  me,  I've  no  inclination 
that  way,  —  not  the  slightest." 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.  143 

"Anna  I  Alice  !"  said  Mrs.  Stamford,  reprov- 
ingly. "  Don't  quarrel  before  this  child,  I  beg 
of  you  I " 

"  That  little  beggar  ? "  exclaimed  Anna. 
"What  right  has  she  here,  anyhow?  You're 
very  much  mistaken,  mother,  if  you  imagine  I 
shall  let  her  muzzle  me.  What  I've  got  to  say,  I 
shall  say,  though  you  bring  here  for  adoption  all 
the  paupers  out  of  the  country  poor-house." 

"  Anna  !  Anna  Arnold  !  "  exclaimed  both 
Mrs.  Staniford  and  Alice  in  a  breath ;  and  Mrs. 
Rentz  added,  "What  do  you  mean,  you  cruel 
woman  ?  The  child  has  feelings,  at  least,  and 
that's  what  you  don't  know  anything  about." 
And  Mrs.  Staniford,  rising,  drew  Lizzie  out  of 

the  room,  while  the  tears  coursed  rapidly  down 

• 

the  poor  child's  cheeks,  and  her  little  heart  was 
sorely  troubled. 

Mrs.  Rentz  could  not  resist  the  humane  im- 


144       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

pulse  she  felt  to  follow  her  into  the  hall,  catch 
her  up,  and  fold  her  for  one  moment,  to  her 
bosom  ;  for,  with  all  her  faults,  she  had  a  warm, 
motherly  heart,  and  the  little  orphan's  loneliness 
touched  her  deeply. 

"  Don't  cry,  dear,"  she  said,  taking  out  her 
prettily-embroidered  handkerchief,  and  wiping 
Lizzie's  eyes.  "  We're  not  all  heathen,  here, 
poor  lamb !  though  I  own  some  of  us  must 
seem  so  to  you.  And  don't  mind  what  Mrs. 
Arnold  says ;  for  Mrs.  Stamford  loves  you,  and 
so  do  I,  and  Carl  does,  I'm  sure,  and  pa.  Take 
Lizzie  to  my  room,  mother.  The  children  are 
nearly  dressed,  and  they'll  soon  put  her  in 
better  spirits.  But,  dear  me!  isn't  Anna  per- 
fectly exasperating  ?  Really,  I  don't  see  how 
you  live  with  her.  I  couldn't." 

They  met  Carl  on  the  staircase. 

**  What's    the    matter,    Lizzie  ? "    he    asked, 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  Folly.  145 

surprised.  "  Has  Ernest  been  striking  you  ? 
or  Louie  pulling  your  hair  ?  If  they  have,  I'll 
fix  them  I  see  if  I  don't." 

"  No,"  said  Lizzie,  between  her  sobs. 

"  Then  Edith  has  been  saying  some  ugly, 
spiteful  thing.  It's  just  like  her.  Now  you  dry 
your  eyes,  Lizzie,  and  come  up  to  Alice's  room 
with  me,  and  we'll  have  a  good  time  with  Madge 
and  Mabel.  You  like  them,  you  know,  and  they 
know  how  to  treat  folks.'* 

But  Lizzie  clung  to  Mrs.  Stamford,  and  did 
not  reply. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  mother,  anyway  ? " 
asked  Carl.  »  Was  it  Anna  ?  " 

"  The  less  said  about  it  the  better,  my  dear," 
replied  his  mother.  But  Carl,  be  careful  never 
to  wound  anybody's  feelings  unnecessarily.  It 
is  not  simply  unkind ;  it  is  cruel.  Lizzie,  my 
little  girl,  wouldn't  you  like  to  go  up  and  stay 


146       The  Stanifords  of  Staniford' '«  Folly. 

with  Madge  and  Mabel  till  the  other  children 
come  ?  There,  dear,"  kissing  her,  "  forget  all 
about  what  has  just  passed.  You  know  we  love 
you,  —  some  of  us,  at  least.  Don't  we,  Carl  ?  " 

"  Of  course  we  do,"  putting  his  arm  about  her, 
and  kissing  her  till  she  laughed  in  spite  of  her 
tears.  "  There,  now  !"  he  continued,  "you  look 
just  handsome !  and  whatever  Anna,  and  Edith 
and  Horace  may  say,  mother  and  Alice,  and  pa, 
and  I,  and  Madge,  and  Mabel,  will  stick  to  you 
through  thick  and  thin,  and  when  I'm  big 
enough,  I'll  make  the  rest  of  them  treat  you  as 
they  ought  to.  See  if  I  don't." 

He  took  Lizzie's  hand,  and  she  let  him  lead 
her  up  the  staircase  to  Mrs.  Rentz's  room.  Alice 
heard  him  as  she  lingered  in  the  hall  below, 
waiting  for  her  mother  to  rejoin  her. 

"  Thank  goodness  I  mother,"  said  she,  as  Mrs. 
Staniford  came  toward  her,  "there'll  be  one 


A  Storm  at  Stamford's  folly.           14T 

gentleman  in  the  Staniford  family,  after  all ;  and 
you'll  have  one  son  whom  you  won't  have 
to  blush  for.  Oh  dear  I  I  wish  Horace  were 
steadier  I  There's  the  bell,  now  !  and  you  and 
I  must  marshal  the  little  procession,  I  suppose." 


CHAPTER  VIII. 
THE  CHILDREN'S  PICNIC. 

T  that  moment,  Mr.  Seccomb's  carriage 
dashed  up  the  avenue;  and  as  the 
children  came  dancing  through  the  hall, 
and  out  under  the  wide  portico,  Mr.  Seccomb's 
man  Michael  alighted,  and  handed  out  Pearl  and 
her  sister  Mary.  As  for  master  Wallace,  being 
quite  a  lad,  and  not  caring  to  be  waited  upon,  he 
jumped  over  the  wheel,  and  George  followed 
suit. 

Mrs.  Staniford  and  Mrs.  Rentz  met  them  at 


The  Children's  Picnic.  149 

the  foot  of  the  long  steps,  arid  soon  the  little 
procession  was  ready  to  start.  First  came 
Arthur  Weldon  with  Pearl;  then  Wallace 
Seccomb  with  Edith  Arnold ;  Ernest  Weldon 
with  Mary  Seccomb ;  Louie  with  Madge  Rentz  ; 
George  Seccomb  with  Mabel  Rentz,  and  last  of 
all,  Carl  with  little  Lizzie. 

Such  a  pretty  array  as  it  was !  So  merry,  too, 
were  the  children  that  you  could  have  heard 
their  ringing  laughter  a  long  way  off.  Madge 
and  Mabel  were  particularly  gay,  and  their 
spirits  infected  even  quiet  Lizzie,  who  skipped 
beside  Carl,  her  brown  curls  tossing,  and  her 
heart  lightened  wholly  of  its  recent  sorrow. 
She  wore  a  white  alpaca  dress,  scalloped  and 
bound  with  scarlet  silk,  and  a  handsome  scarlet 
sash ;  and  her  liquid  brown  eyes  shone  with 
such  happy  beauty,  that  Pearl,  looking  round  for 
a  moment,  and  catching  sight  of  the  li ttle  *  fire- 


150       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford1 8  Folly. 

fly,'  as  she  called  her,  suddenly  left  the  head  of 
the  line,  and  darting  toward  her,  caught  her  and 
kissed  her  heartily. 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Mrs.  Stamford,"  she  said, 
in  excuse,  when  she  came  back  to  her  place. 
"  She  is  the  sweetest  little  thing  I  ever  saw." 

That  pleased  Carl,  you  may  be  sure;  and 
when  they  reached  the  grove,  he  made  friends 
with  Pearl  directly. 

But  Edith  was  sour  and  scornful. 

"What  is  the  matter,  Edith?"  asked  Wal- 
lace. 

"  Nothing  at  all,"  she  replied,  pettishly. 

"  She's  jealous,"  explained  Ernest.  "  She 
told  Madge  the  other  day  that  she  hated  Lizzie." 

"  Well,"  replied  Madge,  "  it  isn't  very  polite 
for  you  to  go  and  tell  of  it,  if  she  did." 

"That's  true,"  said  Edith.  "You  Weldon 
boys  haven't  any  manners,  at  all." 


The  Children's  Picnic.  151 

"  Hush  I "  said  Mabel.     "  Here's  mother.' 

So  the  dispute  ended,  and  the  little  party, 
dividing  and  re-forming  to  suit  themselves, 
followed  Mrs.  Rentz  to  a  sort  of  large,  rustic 
summer-house,  octagonal  in  shape,  and  nicely 
roofed  in,  where  was  a  good,  smooth  floor  for 
playing,  and  seats  arranged  for  those  who 
preferred  to  look  on.  A  young  Scotchman  and 
his  sister,  with  bass-viol  and  violin,  were  there  to 
furnish  the  music. 

Farther  on  were  swings  and  see-saws,  and  at 
the  end  of  the  grove,  the  bowling  alley  and 
archery  targets.  Then  there  were  wickets  on 
the  lawn  for  croquet,  and  grace-hoops  for  the 
girls,  if  they  chose  to  use  them. 

The  children  were  delighted  with  the  arrange- 
ments which  had  been  made  for  their  enjoyment, 
and  forthwith  plunged  head  and  ears  into  fun ; 
and  Mrs.  Rentz  finding  that  she  was  not  needed 


152       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford?  s  Folly. 

to  promote  the  gayety,  rejoined  her  mother,  to 
see  about  the  preparations  for  the  collation. 

The  larger  boys  wanted  to  bowl ;  but  Edith 
who  always  took  the  lead  when  it  was  possible 
for  her  to  do  so,  insisted  that  they  should  play 
croquet  with  the  girls,  to  which  they  rather 
reluctantly  consented  at  last.  This  left  the 
younger  ones  out  in  the  cold,  —  George,  Louie, 
Mabel  and  Lizzie;  seeing  which,  Pearl  made 
Mabel  take  her  place,  much  to  Carl's  disap- 
pointment and  Edith's  chagrin,  and  ran  off  with 
Lizzie,  George  and  Louie  meantime  finding  a 
football,  which  was  eventually  the  means  of 
reducing  the  croquet-party  to  four,  and,  indeed, 
breaking  it  up  altogether. 

Pearl  was  the  eldest  of  the  girls,  being  thir- 
teen, and  Edith's  senior  by  a  year ;  but  there 
was  nothing  affected  about-  her  as  there  was 
Edith.  She  was  still  a  child  in  her 


The  Children's  Picnic.  153 

feelings  and  tastes,  and  nothing  pleased  her 
better  than  to  gather  her  little  brothers  and 
sisters  about  her,  and  tell  them  stories,  while  she 
watched  their  eager  countenances  and  wide-open 
mouths,  and  listened  to  their  enthusiastic  com- 
ments or  curious  questionings. 

She  had  been  longing  to  have  Lizzie  all  to 
herself  for  a  little  while,  for  she  thought  she  saw 
now  and  then  a  shadow  of  loneliness  steal  across 
the  child's  face,  and  cloud  for  a  moment  the 
happy  light  of  her  soft,  beautiful  eyes ;  and 
having  heard  a  little  about  the  loss  she  had 
sustained,  and  pitying  her  out  of  a  very  tender 
and  loving  heart,  she  was  determined  that 
Lizzie,  if  nobody  else,  should  have  a  day  of 
unalloyed  pleasure. 

So  she  took  her  across  the  lawn,  and  out  of 
sight  of  the  merry  children,  to  a  seat  just  large 
enough  for  the  twain,  in  the  cool  shadow  of  two 


154       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford"1  s  FoTiy. 

branching  Norway  spruces,  and  gathering  the 
*  firefly '  close  to  her,  she  asked  her  how  she 
would  like  to  hear  the  story  of  a  good  lion,  which 
she  said  her  own  little  sisters  at  home  enjoyed 
very  much. 

Lizzie's  countenance  brightened  in  an  instant. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  a  story  ? "  asked  Lizaie. 
"  Oh  I  that  will  be  nice !  Mrs.  Scott  tells  us 
stories  sometimes,  and  I  like  her  BO  mutji  I  D*"» 
you  know  Mrs.  Scott  ?  " 

"  No,"  said  Pearl.     "  I  wish  I  did." 

"  She's  very  good,"  said  Lizzie. 

"  And  you're  a  darling  !  "  said  Pearl,  hugging 
her.  "  Now  listen." 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Lizzie,  in  some  alarm. 

*  That '  was  the  football,  which  came  plunging 
through  the  topmost  branches  of  one  of  the 
spruces,  and  fell  plump  into  Pearl's  lap. 

But  George  was  not  far  behind  it,  and  coming 


The  Children's  Picnic.  155 

up,  laughed  heartily,  when  he  saw  where  it  had 
lodged. 

"  What  are  you  cuddling  Lizzie  Staniford 
for  ?  "  he  asked  of  Pearl.  "  Oh,  I  know,"  ho 
added,  without  giving  her  time  to  answer. 
44  You're  telling  stories.  She's  splendid  for  that, 
Lizzie,"  he  said,  —  "  Pearl  is.  She's  as  good  as 
any  book  ;  and  if  I  wasn't  kicking  foot-ball,  I'd 
come,  too." 

Then  Pearl  told  her  story,  and  this  is  the  way 
she  told  it :  — 

THE  STORY  OF  THE  GOOD  LlOtf. 

"  Did  you  ever  see  a  lion,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  No,"  replied  the  child. 

"  But  you've  seen  a  picture  of  one." 

"  Oh,  yes." 

"  Well,  you  should  see  a  real  one.  They  are 
large  beasts,  and  very,  very  strong,  with  fierce 
eyes  and  sharp  teeth,  and  great,  savage  claws.  I 


156       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

saw  one  once  in  a  menagerie,  in  a  large  cage 
with  iron  bars,  and  he  roared  so  loud  that  he 
frightened  me  ever  so  much  at  first.  But  when 
the  keeper  told  me  he  couldn't  get  out,  I  didn't 
care  a  great  deal,  and  stood  and  looked  at  him. 
He  had  a  bushy  mane,  and  his  color  was  a  kind 
of  dingy  yellow.  He  was  a  bad  lion,  and  if  he 
could  have  got  at  me,  would  have  eaten  me,  I 
suppose. 

"But  the  lion  I  am  going  to  tell  you  about, 
proved  in  the  end  to  be  a  good  lion. 

"  I  don't  know  whether  you  ever  heard  that 
there  are  no  lions  live  in  this  country,  except  a 
few  that  have  been  brought  across  the  ocean,  and 
are  kept  in  cages,  just  as  this  one  was  that  I  saw 
in  the  menagerie.  But  that  is  the  case.  The 
homes  of  the  beasts  are  thousands  and  thousands 
of  miles  away. 

"  This  lion  —  the  good  one,  I  mean,  —  lived  ip 


The  Children  s  Picnic.  157 

Africa.  It  is  the  land  of  the  black  people.  A 
great  many,  many  years  ago,  long  before  my 
father,  and  mother,  and  grandfather,  and  grand- 
mother were  born,  there  were  some  beautiful 
large  cities  in  Africa.  They  had  high  walls  all 
around  them,  and  gates  in  the  walls,  to  let  people 
in  and  out.  In  one  of  these  cities  was  a  black 
man  who  had  displeased  the  king ;  so  he  turned 
him  out  of  the  city,  and  told  him  never  to  come 
inside  of  the  walls  again,  or  he  would  be 
killed. 

"  Now  outside  of  the  walls  was  a  great  desert 
of  sand,  with  nothing  growing  on  it  except  little 
dry  shrubs  here  and  there.  It  stretched  just  as 
far  as  you  could  see,  and  if  you  went  to  what 
looked  to  be  the  end  of  it,  it  stretched  just  as  far 
again,  and  away,  and  away,  beyond  that,  even ; 
and  the  sun  shone  on  it,  scorching  hot,  and  there 
was  no  water  in  the  sand,  and  no  food  to  eat 
could  be  found  anywhere. 


158       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  lolly. 

"  Now  the  black  man  who  had  been  shut  out 
of  the  city,  thought  to  himself  that  he  should 
get  hungry  before  long,  and  therf  what  should  he 
do  ?  Well,  he  had  heard  that  if  he  travelled  a 
great  many  miles  on  the  desert,  a  certain  way  — 
I  don't  remember  whether  it  was  towards  the 
sunrise  or  the  sunset, —  he  would  come  to  a 
spot  of  land  where  grass  and  trees  grew,  —  dates 
and  cocoanuts,  and  other  fruits,  and  where  there 
were  nice  springs  of  water.  It  was  not  a  very 
large  piece  of  ground,  and  it  was  called  an  oasis. 

*'  So  the  man  travelled  toward  the  oasis,  and 
after  getting  quite  tired  and  hungry,  and  very 
much  sunburnt  —  though  he  didn't  show  it,  being 
black  — he  reached  the  oasis,  and  throwing  him- 
self down  on  the  grass  beside  a  stream  of  run- 
ning water,  put  his  face  into  it  and  drank.  Then 
he  got  up,  and  helped  himself  to  all  the  dates  he 
wanted,  and  they  were  —  luscious  I 


The  Children's  Picnic.  159 

"  Well,  while  he  was  eating,  he  thought  he 
heard  a  dreadful  sound  which  he  knew,  only  it 
seemed  to  be  distant.  But  the  next  time  he 
heard  it,  it  was  nearer ;  and  he  was  sure  that  it 
was  the  roar  of  a  lion,  and  that  the  lion  must  be 
somewhere  upon  the  oasis. 

"  And  so  he  was ;  and  besides  that,  he  was 
both  hungry  and  thirsty,  as  the  man  had  been, 
and  was  not  fond  of  dates,  but  liked  fresh  meat 
a  great  deal  better. 

"  He  came  to  the  water  to  satisfy  his  thirst, 
and  smelt  the  man's  footsteps.  But  he  was 
quite  lame,  and  limped  on  three  legs ;  and  as  he 
approached  the  date-tree,  the  man  saw  that  his 
lame  paw  was  badly  swollen. 

"  Of  course,  anybody  would  have  been 
frightened  to  meet  a  wild  beast  in  such  a  place, 
even  if  the  creature  were  lame  of  one  foot; 
and  the  man  could  not  help  thinking  that  the 


160       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

dates  he  had  just  swallowed  would  be  of  very 
little  service  to  him,  since  the  lion  was  going  to 
eat  him  up ;  for  the  fierce  animal  roared  fear- 
fully, and  gnashed  his  great  white  teeth. 

"  Still,  he  did  not  spring ;  but  held  up  his  paw. 
Then  the  man  said  to  himself,  '  The  lion  must 
be  roaring  for  pain.  I  will  see  what  is  the 
matter  with  his  foot.'  So  he  went  bravely  up  to 
the  great  beast,  and  took  the  swollen  leg  in  his 
hand,  turning  up  the  ball  of  the  foot,  when  he 
discovered  that  a  stout,  hard  thorn  from  a  thorn- 
bush  had  pierced  it,  and  was  nearly  buried  in  the 
flesh. 

"  What  do  you  suppose  he  did  ?  —  He  pulled  it 
out.  And  what  do  you  suppose  the  lion  did  ?  — 
He  said,  *  Thank  you,  black  man.  You  are  a 
good  fellow,  — just  as  good  as  if  you  were  white;' 
—  only  he  didn't  say  it  in  words;  and  though 
he  showed  his  teeth,  and  fawned,  and  crouched, 


The  Children's  Picnic.  161 

and  rolled  over,  like  a  great  cat,  and  made 
strange  noises,  he  stopped  roaring,  and  didn't 
offer  in  any  way  to  hurt  the  man  who  had 
befriended  him,  but  after  awhile,  lay  down 
quietly  beside  him,  and  watched  him. 

"  This  the  man  didn't  quite  like,  and  would 
have  been  glad  to  get  away  from  the  creature, 
and  off  into  the  desert  again;  but  he  couldn't 
seem  to  find  an  opportunity,  the  lion  watched 
him  so  closely.  By-aud-by,  before  he  knew  it, 
he  fell  asleep,  for  he  was  very  tired. 

'*  When  the  lion  saw  that  he  was  asleep,  he 
got  up  carefully,  and  walked  away.  The  moon 
was  up,  and  shone  across  the  sand,  something  as 
it  does  upon  the  ocean  waves ;  and  the  lion 
followed  the  trail  of  light  far,  far  into  the 
desert,  until  he  could  not  be  seen  any  more. 

"  He  was  gone  a  long  time,  and  at  last  the 
man  awoke.     It  was  morning  ;  and  finding  that 
11 


162       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

the  beast  was  no  longer  beside  him,  he  got  up 
and  went  to  the  stream  to  bathe.  Then  he 
roamed  about  on  the  oasis,  eating  fruit,  and 
keeping  out  of  the  way  of  the  snakes,  which 
were  pretty  plenty.  He  stumbled  upon  some 
old  ruins,  —  broken  stones,  that  had  once  been 
parts  of  a  beautiful  great  house  or  temple, —  and 
upon  one  of  these  he  sat  down,  and  looked  out 
over  the  sand,  wondering  whether  it  were  best 
for  him  to  go  any  farther,  and  try  to  find  an  oasis 
where  men  lived.  While  he  was  sitting  there, 
he  saw  a  dark  speck  ever  so  far  out,  where  the 
sun  and  sky  seemed  to  meet.  It  kept  growing 
larger,  as  he  watched,  and  he  thought  perhaps  it 
was  another  man.  But  at  last  he  saw  that  it 
was  no  man,  but  a  lion.  '  Mercy  upon  us  !  '  he 
thought,  *  what  a  place  this  is  for  lions !  Now  I 
shall  surely  be  eaten.'  But  when  it  came  nearer, 
—  only  think  of  it !  —  it  was  the  very  same  lion 


The  Children's  Picnic.  163 

that  had  left  him  in  the  night,  and  in  his  mouth 
he  carried  a  kid,  which  he  brought,  and  laid  at 
his  friend's  feet,  dead.  '  I  thought  you  must  be 
meat-hungry,  for  I  arn  ;  so  I  have  been  out 
hunting  for  you.'  That;  is  what  he  said,  in  lion 
language.  The  man  understood  it,  and  kindled 
a  fire  in  the  ruins,  and  putting  a  piece  of  the  kid 
upon  the  coals,  cooked  a  good  breakfast  for  him- 
self. The  rest  of  the  kid  he  threw  to  the  lion, 
who  devoured  it  at  one  mouthful. 

"  After  that,  he  did  not  fear  the  lion,  and  they 
became  the  best  of  friends,  and  lived  together 
on  the  oasis,  the  lion  killing  snakes  for  him,  and 
hunting  game  of  different  kinds  for  food. 

"  But  one  day  the  beast  went  away  over  the 
desert,  and  weeks  passed  on,  and  he  did  not 
come  back.  The  man  began  to  get  tired  of 
living  alone,  and  kept  wishing  he  could  once 
more  see  the  inside  of  that  city  from  which  lie 


164       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

had  been  driven  ;  for  his  wife  and  children  were 
there  still.  At  last,  he  couldn't  bear  the 
solitude  any  longer,  and  crossed  the  sands  again, 
travelling  all  day,  and  all  the  next  day,  till 
at  sundown  he  came  in  sight  of  the  city's 
walls. 

"  He  crept  in  stealthily  before  the  gates  were 
shut,  and  went  to  his  house.  But  his  wife  had 
moved  away,  and  the  house  was  let  to  another 
family.  It  was  a  stone  house,  and  a  man  lived 
in  it  who  hated  him.  So  he  went  to  the  king, 
and  told  him  that  the  man  whom  he  had  driven 
away  from  the  city  into  the  desert,  so  many  years 
ago,  had  come  back  again. 

"  Then  the  king  sent  some  black  soldiers,  and 
they  made  the  poor  wanderer  a  prisoner,  and 
shut  him  up  in  a  prison.  Are  you  tired,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Lizzie.  "  Please  tell  me  the 
rest ! " 


The  Children's  Picnic.  165 

"  Well,  this  king  had  a  great  theatre.  Do 
you  know  what  a  theatre  is  like,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  No.  I  never  saw  one,"  she  replied.  "  They're 
bad  places,  aren't  they  ?  " 

"  Well,  this  one  was.  There  was  a  very  large 
piece  of  ground  in  the  middle,  round,  with  a  high 
wall  surrounding  it.  Then  back  of  that  were 
rows  of  seats,  higher  and  higher,  so  that  the  peo- 
ple could  see  over  the  heads  of  those  who  sat  in 
front  of  them  right  down  into  the  arena  —  as 
the  piece  of  ground  in  the  middle  was  called.  In 
the  wall  were  two  strong  gates,  opposite  each 
other,  barred  and  riveted  with  iron.  Behind 
one  of  these  gates,  were  some  men ;  behind  the 
other,  some  wild  beasts, —  lions  and  tigers.  The 
men  were  in  a  prison  ;  the  beasts  in  cages  or 
caves, —  I've  forgotten  which.  Among  the  pris- 
oners was  the  black  man  who  had  lived  so  long 
upon  the  oasis. 


166       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

One  day,  the  theatre  was  crowded  with  men 
and  women,  among  whom  were  the  king  and 
queen.  They  were  waiting  to  see  some  sport, — 
some  very  cruel  sport.  They  were  waiting  to 
see  a  prisoner  come  in  at  one  gate  and  a  lion  at 
the  opposite  one.  Suddenly  a  trumpet  sounded, 
and  the  two  gates  flew  open.  A  fierce  and  hun- 
gry lion  rushed  into  the  arena,  and  seeing  all  the 
people  looking  at  him,  growled  angrily.  He  had 
not  noticed  until  now  that  a  man  stood  before 
him,  shut  in  like  himself  by  the  high  wall.  This 
man  was  the  prisoner  who  had  dwelt  upon  the 
oasis ;  and  they  had  put  him  there  to  fight  with 
this  savage  beast  for  his  life.  As  soon  as  the 
lion  saw  him,  he  crouched,  and  prepared  to  spring 
upon  him.  But  all  at  once  he  got  up,  shook 
himself,  and  began  to  act  very  strangely.  The 
man  looked  at  him,  and  suddenly  saw  that  it  was 
his  old  desert  friend.  He  ran  to  him,  and  the 


The  Children's  Picnic.  167 

lion  fawned  upon  him,  and  was  so  glad  to  see  him, 
that  the  king  and  all  the  people  were  astonished  ; 
they  had  never  known  a  lion  to  spare  a  man  before. 

44  Then  the  king  sent  for  the  prisoner,  and 
asked  him  what  it  meant.  So  the  poor  fellow 
told  him.  So  far,  Lizzie,  my  story  is  pretty  true, 
I  suppose  ;  but  the  rest  of  it,  I  always  have  to 
make  up,  because  it  is  what  the  king  ought  to 
have  done. 

"  When  the  king  learned  how  the  wild  beast 
had  been  subdued  and  made  gentle  by  kindness, 
he  gave  the  man  a  very  elegant  suit  of  clothes, 
and  a  gold  chain  as  wide  as  my  hand,  and  told 
him  he  should  always  after  that  live  at  the  pal- 
ace. Then  he  sent  for  the  man's  wife  and  child- 
ren, and  gave  the  woman  a  sill*  dress,  and  gypsy 
bonnet,  and  lace  shawl,  and  each  of  the  boys  a 
hobby-horse,  and  each  of  the  girls  a  wax  doll. 
As  for  the  lion,  he  was  allowed  a  gilded  cage  in 


168       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

the  palace  yard,  and  his  friend  went  in  and  fed 
him  every  day  before  the  people. 

"  At  last  he  died ;  and  then  they  stuffed  him, 
and  put  him  on  a  marble  pedestal  in  the  entrance 
hall  of  the  palace,  under  a  great  glass  case  ;  and 
a  sculptor  made  a  statue  of  him  in  stone,  with 
his  paw  held  up  in  this  way,  and  the  figure  of 
his  friend  kneeling  upon  one  knee  before  him,  in 
the  act  of  pulling  out  the  thorn.  That  stood  for 
a  long  time  in  a  public  square  of  the  city,  but  was 
at  last  destroyed  by  a  terrible  earthquake,  and 
the  city  swallowed  up,  all  but  a  few  stones." 

"  And  what  became  of  the  stuffed  lion  ? n 
asked  Lizzie,  who  was  all  attention. 

"  I  don't  know.  But  I  think  likely  that  the 
glass  case  broke,  and  the  flames  coming  out  of 
the  ground  set  fire  to  him,  and  being  filled  with 
hay,  he  burned  up.  But,  as  I  told  you,  the  last 
part  of  my  story  isn't  quite  true,  and  you  may 


The  Children '«  Picnic.  169 

believe  only  as  far  as  where  the  lion  wouldn't 
hurt  the  man  in  the  arena. 

44  And  now  shall  I  tell  you  the  moral  to  it  ?  " 

"  Is  that  some  more  about  the  man  ?  "  asked 
Lizzie. 

'*  Oh,  no.  A  moral  is  something  good  which  a 
story  ought  to  teach.  I  always  have  to  have  a 
*  moral '  to  my  stories.  Sometimes,  when  I  make 
up  stories  for  George,  and  Addie,  and  Floy,  I 
think  of  a  moral,  and  then  I  tell  a  story  that  will 
fit  it.  What  should  you  think  this  one  of  '  The 
Good  Lion  '  ought  to  teach,  Lizzie  ?  " 

Lizzie's  eyes  sparkled. 

44  That  we  should  be  kind  to  wild  beasts,"  she 
replied. 

"  Not  quite,"  Pearl  said,  *4  though  near  it. 
That  we  should  show  mercy  to  our  enemies, 
and  be  gentle  to  those  who  say  cruel  things  to 
us,  and  tell  untruths  to  us,  and  try  to  make  us 


170       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford? 8  Folly. 

unhappy.  That  is  the  lesson,  I  think.  You  see 
it  may  be  the  means  of  changing  them  into 
friends,  if  they  see  that  we  are  forgiving,  instead 
of  being  revengeful." 

Lizzie  leaned  her  head  against  Pearl's  shoulder 
and  sighed.  She  was  thinking  of  what  Mrs. 
Arnold  had  said,  in  the  morning  room,  and  won- 
dering whether  — 

Pearl  interrupted  her  reverie.  Lowering  her 
voice  almost  to  a  whisper,  she  said,  — 

"  They're  not  all  pleasant  to  you,  I  know.  I've 
got  sharp  eyes,  though  I  don't  seem  to  notice, 
perhaps  ;  and  I've  found  out  that  Mrs.  Arnold 
doesn't  like  you,  Lizzie.  But  don't  mind  it, —  at 
least,  not  any  more  than  you  must.  Keep  a 
brave  heart,  and  be  as  good  as  you  know  how, 
and  when  you  have  a  chance  to  do  anything  for 
her  that  she  wants  done  very  much,  do  it.  One 
of  these  days  she  will  get  over  her  dislike.  I'm 


The  Children's  Picnic.  171 

certain  she  will.  You're  a  dear  little  girl,  Liz- 
zie, and  I  love  you !  "  and  Pearl  hugged  and 
kissed  the  child  just  as  she  would  have  done  one 
of  her  own  little  sisters.  "And  n  >w  let's  go  into 
the  grove  and  see  if  we  can  find  Madge,  and  Ma- 
bel," she  added,  "  for  I  don't  know  but  by  this 
time  they've  begun  to  think  we're  lost.  How 
old  is  Madge  ?  "  asked  Pearl. 

"  Eleven.  And  Mabel's  eight.  And  oh, 
they're  such  good  girls.  I  have  such  good  times 
with  them !  I  wish  they'd  stay  always.  And  I 
wish  Johnny  and  Molly  were  here,  to-day.  But 
Mrs.  Bowles  said  she  couldn't  let  them  come." 

"  Mrs.  Bowles  ?  " 

"  Yes.  She's  Doctor  Bowles's  wife.  And 
they've  taken  Molly  and  Johnny, — that's  my 
brother  and  sister." 

"  Oh,  I  know  now.  I've  seen  them  at  church, 
and  you  can't  think,  Lizzie,  how  I  like  their  looks. 
You  must  introduce  them  to  me  some  time." 


172       The  Stanifords  of  Stamfords  Folly 

"Pearl!  Pearl  Seccomb;  Where's  Pearl?" 
It  was  Edith's  voice. 

"  Coming  ! "  she  called  ;  and  she  soon  found 
her  way  into  the  midst  of  the  gay  little  group, 
who  were  all  laughing  and  talking  together,  and 
evidently  in  the  highest  spirits. 

It  looked  as  though  both  sides  had  beat  at 
croquet ;  but  I  have  since  learned  that  the  boys 
rather  ungallantly  left  the  girls,  to  kick  football ; 
and  that  finding  they  were  deserted,  the  girls  only 
made  believe  croquet,  until  the  football  came 
flying  in  amongst  them,  when  they  seized  it  and 
hid  it,  and  the  boys  searching  for  it  in  vain,  Wal- 
lace finally  proposed  a  game,  which  all  assented 
to,  without  a  hint  being  given  of  the  football's 
whereabouts. 

Girls  will  do  such  things,  as  all  girls  know. 

And  now  I  should  like  to  stop  and  tell  you 
about  the  game,  if  I  knew  just  how  it  was 


The  Children's  Picnic.  173 

played  ;  but  as  I  do  not,  I  will  only  say  that 
in  the  very  midst  of  the  forfeits,  —  I  believe 
they  were  heavy  forfeits,  —  came  the  summons  to 
lunch  ;  and  the  boys  being  very  hungry,  —  as 
boys  are  apt  to  be,  —  wouldn't  take  time  to  finish 
their  sport,  but  good-naturedly  whisked  theii 
partners  into  line,  and  headed  for  the  big  tent  on 
the  lawn. 

Ah !  such  a  beautiful  sight  as  met  their  eyes 
when  they  entered  it !  It  was  hung  with  ever- 
greens and  wreaths  of  flowers,  and  gilded  cages 
were  suspended  at  the  two  entrances ;  while  the 
table  tempted  with  all  manner  of  dainties,  among 
which  were  scattered  vases  filled  with  green- 
house bouquets,  —  one  for  each  child. 

After  the  collation,  they  rolled  ball,  and  tried 
the  archery,  —  all  but  Mabel  and  Lizzie ;  for 
Mabel  was  tired,  and  the  elder  children  rather 
neglected  the  two  little  girls  in  their  eagerness 


174       The  Stanifords  of  Staniford'8  Folly. 

to  get  ten  strikes  in  the  alley,  and  hit  the  eye  of 
the  target  on  the  archery  ground  ;  so  they  raced 
across  the  turf,  hand  in  hand,  and  wandered  into 
the  grove,  in  search  of  wonders.  How  the 
young  grasshoppers  capered,  and  the  early  butter- 
cups and  daisies  laughed,  and  nodded  as  their 
"  twinkling  feet  "  sped  over  the  lawn !  Down 
in  the  cool  wood-depths  they  found  mushrooms, 
pine-cones,  cup-mosses,  puff-ball,  tender  checker- 
berry  leaves,  delicate  wild  flowers,  and  plenty  of 
ants,  spiders,  and  young  beetles,  in  which,  by-the- 
by,  Mabel  was  very  much  interested.  It  was  her 
delight  to  turn  over  an  old  stone,  or  pull  a  bit  of 
moss  from  a  rock,  and  watch  the  little  squirming, 
wriggling  things  beneath  it,  suddenly  revealed  by 
the  unexpected  act.  How  she  laughed  over  them, 
and  their  frantic  attempts  to  hide  from  the  day- 
light! She  would  sit  for  hours,  and  study  an 
ant-hill ;  and  had  more  than  once  been  stung  by 


The  Children's  Picnic.  175 

an  invidious  bee  for  wanting  to  pry  too  closely 
into  the  secrets  of  honey-making.  She  was  not 
a  bit  afraid  of  caterpillars  or  grasshoppers  ;  and 
let  the  lady-birds  creep  where  they  would,  upon 
face  or  hands.  She  could  not  bear  to  kill  a  fly,— 
or  even  a  spider  or  mosquito ;  and  half  thought 
the  birds  wicked  to  eat  bugs  and  worms. 

On  and  on  they  wandered,  till  they  came  to  a 
fence, —  the  boundary  line  of  Mr.  Stamford's  land. 
They  followed  it  down  to  a  brook,  full  of  pebbles 
and  clinging  green  mosses,  and  bright  cresses. 
This  they  crossed  upon  some  planks  laid  for  the 
purpose,  and  soon  found  themselves  in  the  com- 
pany of  four  sleek  and  meek-eyed  Jersey  cows, 
who  were  contentedly  chewing,  and  seemed  to 
care  very  little  about  their  childish  visitors. 
Lizzie,  however,  was  a  trifle  afraid  of  them,  and 
felt  relieved  when  they  had  reached  the  pasture- 
gates  and  were  safe  upon  the  other  side  of  the 


176       The  Stamfords  of  Stamfords  Folly. 

"  Where  are  we,  Mabel  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,"  replied  the  little 
girl,  "  but  we  shall  come  out  all  right,  if  we  keep 
on." 

And  so  they  did,  for,  climbing  a  wooded  knoll, 
they  saw  through  the  bushes  the  back  part  of 
the  great  house,  and  Peter  mounting  the  seat 
of  the  carryall,  to  which  were  harnessed  a  pair 
of  bay  horses.  Mrs.  Staniford  had  just  been 
speaking  with  him  at  the  porch  door,  and  listen- 
ing, they  distinctly  heard  the  old-fashioned 
clock  in  the  hall  strike  four  before  the  door 
closed  upon  her. 

"  Oh  !  I'm  so  tired !  "  sighed  Lizzie. 

"  Are  you  ?  So  am  I.  Let's  go  into  the  tent 
and  rest  awhile.  I  saw  a  sofa  there  when  we 
had  our  lunch." 

There  was  a  lounge,  and  Lizzie  and  Mabel 
curling  themselves  up  on  it,  in  less  than  five 
minutes  were  fast  asleep. 


CHAPTER  IX. 

MOLLY  AND  JOHNNY  MEET  PEARL. 
>a 

U[RS.  STANIFORD  had  had  a  great  deal 
to  think  of  during  the  day,  but  her 
thoughts  were  of  and  for  others,  rather 
than  herself.  How  to  make  her  guests  happy, — 
that  was  the  principal  one  ;  and  then  it  came 
across  her  how  Johnny  and  Molly  would  have 
enjoyed  the  romps,  and  games,  and  collation,  and 
she  half  rebelled  against  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Bowles's 
wise  decision. 

All  at  once, —  and  that  was  in  the   middle  of 
12  (177) 


178       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

the  afternoon, —  it  occurred  to  her  that  the  school 
closed  at  four  o'clock,  and  that  there  were  fivo 
hours  more  before  nine.  "  The  children  shall 
come,  yet  I "  she  said  to  herself ;  and  then  found 
Peter,  and  bade  him  harness,  and  go  again  for 
them. 

Meantime,  there  had  been  great  sport  at  the 
archery-ground,  and  some  vexation  upon  Edith's 
part,  for  Carl,  and  Madge,  and  the  two  younger 
Weldon  boys  were  very  much  amused  at  her  ill 
success,  and  two  or  three  times  laughed  aloud,  as 
her  arrow  went  flying  past  the  target  and  fell 
into  the  grass ;  for  she  had  boasted  a  good  deal 
that  morning  about  her  accomplishments,  and 
among  others,  had  named  this,  affirming  that  she 
could  lodge  her  arrows  within  the  inner  ring  next 
to  the  bull's-eye,  three  times  out  of  five  ;  where- 
as, after  more  than  a  dozen  attempts,  she  had 
succeeded  but  once,  the  gay  little  shafts  almost 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         179 

always  darting  by  the  target,  or,  if  striking  it, 
lodging  close  to  its  outer  circle,  to  Edith's  great 
mortification. 

Finally,  she  threw  down  bow  and  arrow  in  a 
pet,  and  declared  that  "  she  hoped  they  were  all 
saucy  enough ;  she  wouldn't  stay  with  such  a 
set."  Whereupon  Pearl,  who  could  not  bear  to 
see  any  one  unhappy,  tripped  after  her,  and  put- 
ting her  arms  about  Edith's  waist,  said  coaxingly, 
*  Never  mind,  Edith.  You  and  I  will  go  down 
to  the  grove,  and  have  a  run  all  to  ourselves." 

But  when  Pearl  left,  the  archery  practice  grew 
to  be  dull  music,  and  it  was  not  long  before 
Arthur  and  the  others,  catching  the  sound  of  the 
violin,  agreed  that  something  lively  was  the  best 
fan  after  all,  and  with  a  loud  whoop,  the  boys  set 
off  at  full  speed  for  the  summer  house,  followed 
by  Madge  and  Mary. 

44  There  they  are,  now  I  "  exclaimed  Edith.  "  I 


180       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford* 8  Folly. 

think  it's  real  mean.  I  won't  play  any  more 
if  Carl  and  those  horrid  Weldons  are  going  to 
stick  their  noses  in ;  I  hate  boys,  anyway ! 
They're  always  round  where  they're  not  wanted, 
and  just  as  rude  and  ugly  as  they  can  be." 

But  Carl  had  all  at  once  discovered  that  Liz- 
zie was  missing ;  and  as  he  had  voluntarily  as- 
sumed the  care  of  her,  he  began  to  wonder  where 
she  could  be. 

"  Perhaps  she  has  gone  up  to  the  house,"  sug- 
gested Arthur. 

"  No,"  said  Mary.  "  She  went  down  into  the 
wood  with  Mabel  Rentz.  I  called  to  them  to 
come  with  George  and  me,  but  Mabel  said  they 
were  only  going  a  little  way,  to  'find  funny 
things  and  hear  the  birds  sing.'  " 

"  Then  I  know  they're  in  the  wood,"  argued 
Madge.  "  Mabel  would  stay  there  till  dark, 
hunting  for  bugs  and  worms,  if  she  wasn't  told 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         181 

not  to.  She's  the  queerest  little  thing  about  that 
you  ever  saw  ;  and  she  makes  the  greatest  fuss 
if  mother  kills  a  spider  or  a  caterpillar.  Oh,  if  she 
went  into  the  wood,  I  know  she's  there  now." 

"  There's  no  danger  of  they're  getting  lost,  I 
suppose,"  said  Wallace. 

"  Not  on  our  land,"  returned  Carl.  **  But 
Orme's  wood-lot  joins  ours,  and  it's  a  big  one.  If 
they  got  in  there,  they  wouldn't  find  their  way 
out  very  soon." 

Wallace  took  out  his  watch. 

"  It's  four  o'clock,  already,"  he  said.  "  Hadn't 
we  better  look  for  them,  Carl,  before  it  gets  any 
later  ?  " 

Pearl  had  joined  the  little  group. 

•*  Oh,  do  !  Carl !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  It  would 
be  dreadful,  if  they  were  lost.  And  it  grows 
dark  so  much  earlier  where  the  trees  and  bushes 
are  thick,  and  I  can't  help  thinking  about  the 
snakes,  —  ugh  I " 


182       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford* 8  Folly. 

**  I'll  tell  you  how  to  manage  it,"  advised 
Arthur.  "  Let  Madge  go  up  to  the  house,  and  if 
they're  there,  get  one  of  the  maids  to  strike  the 
big  bell.  We  can  all  hear  that.  George  can 
run  down  to  the  bowling  alley,  meantime,  and 
scour  about  by  the  pond,  and  afterward  hunt 
around  the  barns  and  out-buildings  ;  if  the  bell 
doesn't  sound  by  then,  Pearl  and  Mary  can 
search  all  the  clumps  and  hiding  places  on  the 
lawn,  and  you,  and  Wallace,  and  I  will  dive  into 
Orme's  wood.  But  really,  Carl,  I  don't  believe 
they're  there." 

*'  Somehow,  I  don't  think  they  are,  myself,'* 
returned  he.  "Mabel  wouldn't  be  afraid  to 
start  for  California  on  foot,  if  she  took  a  notion 
to  ;  but  I  don't  believe  Lizzie  would  get  through 
the  bars  into  Orme's  woods  without  permission 
She  never  does  anything  she  thinks  mother 
wouldn't  like." 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         183 

"Let's  try  Arthur's  plan,"  said  Wallace. 
"  Only  I'll  run  up  to  the  house  instead  of  Madge, 
and  if  they're  not  to  be  found  there,  I'll  join  you 
two  boys  in  less  than  five  minutes." 

And  off  he  darted  on  his  errand,  while  the 
rest  separated  according  to  Arthur's  suggestion, 
disconsolate  Edith  complaining  to  Pearl  that  she 
"  never  could  have  any  enjoyment ;  "  and  that 
children  were  "  forever  doing  something  they'd 
no  business  to  do,  and  spoiling  all  the  fun  for 
everybody  else  ; "  a  failing  it  is  to  be  presumed, 
of  which  Miss  Edith  was  never  guilty. 

The  boys  shouted  the  little  ones'  names,  but 
only  echo  answered. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  fence  boundary, 
separating  Mr.  Stamford's  land  from  Mr.  Orme's 
was  a  rank  growth  of  grass  and  bushes.  Mount- 
ing the  top  rail,  Carl  looked  over;  but  the 
children  had  evidently  not  been  there,  for  the 
long,  green  blades  were  untrampled. 


184       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford?  8  Folly. 

The  boys  followed  the  fence  to  the  brook. 
At  the  brook,  was  a  stile  into  Mr.  Orme's 
meadow.  Halting  here,  Carl  shouted  again. 
No  answer.  He  went  along  to  the  little  plank- 
bridge.  Ah !  acorns  and  pine-cones !  Mabel  had 
dropped  these;  and  across  the  brook,  where 
Lizzie  had  become  frightened  at  the  cows,  was  a 
scattered  handful  of  checkerberry  leaves. 

"  Come  along,  Arthur,"  he  called.  "I've 
struck  the  trail ; "  then  gave  a  shrill  whistle, 
which  Wallace  answered,  as  he  came  bounding 
toward  them. 

"See!"  said  Carl.  "They  came  this  way," 
pointing  to  the  lost  spoils. 

"Well,  then,  somebody's  sure  to  find  them 
about  the  grounds,"  returned  Wallace.  "  They're 
not  at  the  house." 

They  passed  through  the  gate,  to  the  lawn, 
and  again  Carl  shouted. 

No  response. 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.          18-5 

"  Pearl  hasn't  come  upon  them,  yet.  it  seems," 
said  Wallace.  "  I  wonder  if  anybody  tried  the 
big  tent." 

"  Sure  enough  !  "  rejoined  Carl.  "  I  never 
thought  of  that.  I'll  go  and  see  if  they're 
there." 

He  crossed  the  lawn  in  double  quick  time, 
while  Arthur  and  Wallace  joined  Pearl,  and  her 
sister,  and  Edith,  George  having  returned  mean- 
time without  intelligence. 

Carl  looked  in  at  the  tent  opening. 

There  lay  the  children,  wrapped  in  slumber, 
Mabel's  arm  about  Lizzie,  her  sunny  hair  rippling 
over  the  pillow  beside  Lizzie's  dark  brown  curls, 
and  her  peachy  cheek  resting  upon  her  little 
playmate's  shoulder.  Her  treasures  had  fallen 
from  her  lap,  and  were  scattered  here  and  there 
among  the  shaven  grass. 

Ah !  then  he  shouted  to  some  purpose.     Yon 


186       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford* s  Folly. 

could  have  heard  his  "Wallace!  —  Here!— 
Safe  I  "  almost  to  the  farther  end  of  the  grove. 

The  frightened  children  sprang  up,  wide 
awake,  Mabel  rolling  off  the  lounge,  face  down- 
ward, among  the  wild  flowers,  and  mosses,  and 
curling  fern-fronds.  She  was  half  angry,  too, 
and  cried  a  little. 

"  What's  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Carl,  coming  to 
the  rescue.  But  Mabel  would  not  let  him  touch 
her. 

"  You  needn't  have  made  such  a  horrid  noise," 
she  jerked  out,  as  she  picked  herself  up  and 
shook  out  her  dress. 

*'  Oh,  don't  be  cross,  Mabel,"  said  Carl. 
**  We  all  thought  you  and  Lizzie  were  lost." 

She  relented  a  little. 

"  I  ain't  cross,  but  I  was  having  such  a  nice 
dream,  and  you  woke  me  up  just  when  I  didn't 
want  to  be  waked." 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         187 

•«  Did  I  ?  Well,  I  didn't  mean  to.  What  was 
you  dreaming  about  ?  " 

"  About  a  big  green  beetle  with  long  hind  legs 
that  sat  up  to  me  and  held  out  his  hands  like 
Squib  does  his  paws.  He  made  a  bow,  and 
scratched  his  ear,  and  then  winked  at  me  so 
funny  I  couldn't  help  laughing;  and  if  you 
hadn't  frightened  me  so,  I  was  going  to  speak  to 
him." 

"Well,  now,  look  here,  Mabel.  I'll  find  a 
lady-bird  or  a  grasshopper,  and  put  it  under 
your  pillow,  and  you  can  dream  the  beetle  pan- 
tomime over  again,  and  make  the  old  fellow  tell 
you  how  it  happened  that  he  came  to  have  ears 
when  all  the  rest  of  the  '  big  bugs  '  haven't  got 
any.  I'd  like  to  know  about  it,  myself.  Were 
you  dreaming  about  beetles,  Lizzie  ? "  going 
toward  her. 

"  Oh  !  don't  step  on  the  little  funny  things  I 


188       The  tStanifords  of  StaniforcT  8  Folly. 

found  in  the  wood  I  "  screamed  Mabel,  clutching 
at  the  ferns  and  pine-cones.  And  then  she  sat 
down  on  the  grass,  and  gathered  them  all  into 
her  lap. 

"  What  good  are  they,  anyway  ?  "  asked  Carl. 

"  They're  pretty,  and  I'm  going  to  carry  them 
home  when  I  go,"  she  replied. 

*'  Much  you  will ! "  he  said.  "  Your  mother 
won't  let  you  put  that  trash  into  the  trunk." 

"  It  isn't  trash,"  she  retorted.  "  God  made 
them,  and  God  doesn't  make  any  trash  but  '  poor 
white  trash,' "  she  added. 

Carl  laughed. 

"You're  an  odd  stick,"  he  said.  "Who  told 
you  about  *  poor  white  trash  ? '" 

"  Uncle  Csesar,  that  saws  papa's  wood." 

"  Hark !      what's     that  ? "     exclaimed    Carl. 

"  Carriage  wheels  ?  Who's  come  now  ?  I  won- 
der," going  to  the  tent  opening.  "Come  quick  1 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         189 

Lizzie.  It's  Johnny  and  Molly,  as  true  as  you 
live !  That's  prime  now,  isn't  it  ?  " 

Down  she  jumped,  her  face  radiant.  She  did 
not  need  a  second  summons,  but  skipped  across 
the  lawn,  followed  by  Carl-  at  a  quick  pace. 
Mabel  took  it  leisurely,  for  her  treasures  would 
spill  out  at  either  side  of  her  dress  into  the  grass 
at  every  other  step,  and  of  course  she  must  stop 
and  pick  them  up. 

Pearl,  Wallace,  Arthur  and  the  others  had 
just  turned  back  toward  the  grove,  thinking  at 
first  that  the  carriage  contained  callers  for  Mrs. 
Staniford,  but  George  having  discovered,  as  it 
came  up  the  avenue,  that  it  was  Mrs.  Stamford's 
own  team  with  Peter  driving,  they  halted  till  it 
should  pass  them,  when  Edith  caught  sight  of 
the  new  guests,  and  forthwith  launched  her 
ready  invectives. 

"Those  hateful  Forbeses !     I  should   like  to 


190       The  Stamfords  <tf  Stamford*  Folly. 

know  what  they're  coming  here  for.  It's  just 
like  grandma  to  go  and  send  for  them,  when 
nobody  wants  them.  Grandma's  so  queer  about 
some  things !  " 

**  I  don't  think  they're  hateful,"  said  Arthur. 
44 1  like  them. " 

She  curled  her  lip. 

"  Well,  you  and  I  are  different,"  she  retorted, 
"  and  I  am  glad  of  it. " 

u  And  so  am  I,"  was  at  his  tongue's  end  to 
say,  but  he  only  thought  it ;  which  I  set  down 
to  the  score  of  Arthur's  politeness,  in  this  in- 
stance, and  therefore  to  his  credit,  though  he 
now  and  then  forgot  himself,  and  answered  Edith 
back  more  pointedly  than  he  should  have  done. 

But  there  is  no  use  disputing  with  ill-tempered 
and  unreasonable  people.  Argument  is  lost 
upon  them,  and  opposition  and  ridicule  only 
make  them  angry.  In  such  cases  silence  is  one's 
best  ally. 


Molly  and  Johnny  me,«t   Pearl.          191 

Mrs.  Arnold  was  in  her  sitting-room  at  the 
front  of  the  house,  shading  wools  and  flosses 
near  the  window.  She  did  not  notice  the  sound 
of  the  wheels,  and  the  ring  of  the  horses'  hoofs 
upon  the  pavement,  or,  if  she  did,  supposed  it 
was  her  father,  who  was  late  that  day.  But 
when  she  heard  the  voices  and  laughter,  and  her 
mother's  welcome  of  the  children,  she  got  up, 
and  stepping  into  the  balcony,  leaned  over  the 
balustrade. 

"  Mother!  "  she  called  out  angrily.  "  I  want 
to  speak  to  you.  What  absurd  thing  have  you 
been  doing?  Have  you  sent  down  to  Mrs. 
Bowles's  again  for  those  little  miserable  Forbeses, 
after  the  answer  she  gave  you  ?  " 

Mrs.  Staniford  looked  up  and  said,  — • 

"  I'll  talk  with  you  about  the  matter,  Anna, 
when  I'm  at  leisure.  But  I  have  nothing  to  say 


192       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

<*  Because  if  yon  have,"  continued  Mrs.  Arnold, 
without  heeding  her  mother's  reply,  "you're 
just  as  mean-spirited  as  you  can  be,  and  I  shall 
speak  to  pa  about  making  the  Stamfords  get 
down  on  their  knees  to  people  who  insult  them 
as  the  Bowleses  have  insulted  us.  I'm  ashamed 
of  you  I " 

Carl's  blood  was  up. 

"  Better  be  ashamed  of  yourself! "  he  retorted* 
"  And  pa  would  pack  you  and  Edith  off  pretty 
quick,  if  he  heard  you  abuse  mother  in  that  way. 
This  is  her  house  and  not  yours,  and  she  has  a 
right  to  ask  here  anyone  she  pleases ;  and  it's 
none  of  your  business." 

Mrs.  Arnold  did  not  wait  to  hear  him  out. 
She  went  back  into  the  room,  and  pulled  down 
the  sash  with  a  bang.  Then  she  took  up  her 
embroidery  frame,  and  tossed  it  across  the  floor ; 
and,  throwing  herself  into  her  sewing-chair,  beat 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.          193 

the  carpet  angrily  with  one  foot,  while  she  gave 
vent  to  ejaculations  and  exclamations,  neither 
choice  nor  ladylike.  Then  she  reached  to  the 
bell-cord  and  pulled  it  with  a  quick  succession 
of  sudden  jerks,  quite  indicative  of  her  state  of 
mind. 

"  Go  and  call  Miss  Edith,"  she  said  perempto- 
rily, when  the  maid  had  answered  the  summons. 
"  Tell  her  that  I  want  her  immediately,  and  that 
she's  not  to  stop  and  speak  with  anybody  on  the 
way." 

"  Where  shall  I  find  her,  please,  ma'am  ? " 
asked  the  girl,  timidly. 

"  Where  she  is,  of  course,"  replied  Mrs.  Arnold, 
rudely.  "  What  were  your  eyes  made  for  ? 
Don't  stand  there  like  a  ninny." 

And  with  that  she  got  up,  strode  across  the 
room,  and,  —  I  blush  to  tell  it,  —  slammed  the 
door  in  the  girl's  face. 
13 


194       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Johnny  and  Molly  thought  their  welcome 
rather  a  doubtful  one,  though  Mrs.  Staniford 
and  Carl  tried  their  best  to  remove  the  unpleas- 
ant impression  which  Anna's  conduct  had 
caused.  The  children  had  seen,  upon  one  or 
two  other  occasions,  that  Mrs.  Arnold  was  not 
kindly  toward  them,  still  her  animus  had  hitherto 
been  expressed  rather  by  looks  and  gestures  than 
by  any  pointed  insult ;  and  Johnny  could  not 
quite  get  over  this  new  phase  of  her  dislike, 
shown  so  openly,  and  without  a  particle  of 
consideration  for  their  feelings. 

But  he  forgot  it  for  a  moment,  when  he  caught 
eight  of  Lizzie's  eager  face  beaming  with  smiles, 
and  her  arms  held  out  toward  him,  and,  scarcely 
waiting  to  answer  Mrs.'  Stamford's  kind  inquiries 
with  regard  to  Mrs.  Bowles,  he  seized  his  pet 
sister,  and  smothered  her  with  kisses. 

"  Kiss  me,  too,"  said  Mabel.  "  I  like  you, 
Johnny.  And  I  like  Molly." 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         195 

Johnny  kissed  her,  but  a  little  shyly,  and  then 
Molly  followed  suit. 

"  And  now,  Carl,"  said  Mrs.  Staniford,  "  show 
the  children  the  way  to  the  grove,  and  introduce 
them  to  the  others.  I  want  they  should  have  the 
happiest  time  they  ever  had  in  their  lives.  Do 
your  best  to  promote  their  enjoyment, —  won't 
you,  my  boy  ?  " 

"  Yes,  mother,  I  will,"  he  promptly  replied. 

Johnny  took  Lizzie's  hand,  and  Molly  Mabel's, 
—  she  had  at  last  left  her  '  funny  things  '  on 
the  turf  bordering  the  avenue, —  and  they  fol- 
lowed Carl  toward  the  spot  where  the  little 
group  of  young  people  stood  awaiting  them. 

All  at  once   Johnny  stopped  short. 

"  Molly,"  said  he,  abruptly,  "  I've  a  great  mind 
to  go  home." 

"  What  for  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  Because  I  don't  like  to  be  where   I  ain't 


196       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford*  s  Folly. 

wanted,  he  returned,  with  a  sudden  recollection 
of  Mrs.  Arnold's  rudeness. 

"  What's  that  ?  "  asked  Carl,  turning  suddenly. 
"  I  tell  you,  Johnny,  it  was  my  mother  who  sent 
for  you,  and  she  wouldn't  have  sent  if  she  hadn't 
wanted  you,  and  Anna  hasn't  anything  to  do 
with  it.  Don't  you  mind  anything  about  her. 
She's  nobody,  and  her  sputtering  don't  amount 
to  that,"  snapping  his  fingers.  "  It  isn't  her 
party,  and  she  can't  have  her  say  about  it,  if  she 
wants  to.  She's  a  Tartar, —  that's  what  she  is." 

"  But  she  said  Doctor  and  Mrs.  Bowles  had  in- 
sulted your  family,"  returned  Johnny. 

"  Well,  that's  one  of  her  ugly  stories,"  said 
Carl.  "They  never  did  any  such  thing,  and 
mother  knows  they  never  would.  I  wish  Anna'd 
get  married,  and  take  herself  and  Edith  off  some- 
where else." 

"I  can't  bear  Edith,"  whispered  Mabel  to 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         197 

Molly,  confidentially.  "  She  pulled  my  hair  one 
day,  and  then  she  told  a  lie  about  it,  and  said 
she  didn't.  But  I  do  like  Pearl.  Do  you  know 
Pearl?" 

Johnny  was  all  attention. 

"  No,"  replied  Molly,  hesitatingly.  "  I've  seen 
pearl,  though.  Mrs.  Bowles  has  a  pearl  card-case. 
Is  that  what  you  mean  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  no,  indeed,"  returned  Mabel,  laughing. 

"  It's  a  girl,  Pearl  Seccomb." 

"  Is  she  here  ?  "  asked  Johnny,  anxiously. 

"  Yes.  Didn't  you  know  it  ?  There  she  stands, 
next  to  Arthur.  And  that's  Wallace  next  to 
him,  and  George  is  chasing  my  sister  Madge." 

"  Wallace  is  a  tiptop  fellow,  Johnny,"  com- 
mented Carl.  "  I  like  him  better  than  Arthur 
Weldon,  though  Arthur's  tiptop,  too.  Come 
along.  And  you  come,  too,  Molly.  I'll  intro- 
duce you.  They're  waiting  for  us." 


198       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford' 8  Folly. 

Just  then  Mrs.  Arnold's  maid  stopped  to  speak 
to  Edith,  who  pouted  her  lip,  and  made  some  dis- 
agreeable reply,  as  they  could  easily  see,  though 
she  followed  her  across  the  lawn  to  the  house. 

To  tell  the  truth,  notwithstanding  Carl's  eu- 
logy of  his  friend,  Johnny  did  not  want  to  meet 
the  Seccombs ;  but  he  was  ashamed  to  speak  of 
his  prejudice,  and  they  received  him  so  politely 
and  cordially,  that  the  ice  soon  melted,  and  he 
found  himself  talking  with  them  as  familiarly  as 
if  he  had  always  known  them.  On  Pearl's  neck 
was  the  very  locket  he  had  found  in  the  snow. 
But  Johnny  kept  his  own  counsel,  and  put  down 
the  momentary  bitterness  it  called  up. 

"  I'm  so  glad  you  came !  "  said  Pearl.  "  But 
when  I  told  Lizzie  this  morning  that  I  wished  I 
knew  you,  it  never  entered  my  head  that  I  should 
see  you  so  soon.  We  have  had  such  a  delightful 
day  !  and  Mrs.  Staniford  has  been  so  kind  1 " 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.         199 

"  Do  you  dance  ?  "  asked  Wallace  of  Molly. 

Molly  blushed. 

"  No,"  she  replied.  "  I  wish  I  did.  But  Mrs. 
Bowles  —  "  and  then  she  hesitated. 

Pearl  came  to  her  rescue. 

"  There  are  a  great  many  people,  you  know, 
Wallace,"  she  said,  "  who  don't  quite  approve 
of  dancing.  Perhaps  Mrs.  Bowles  is  one  of  them. 
They  don't  think  there's  any  harm  in  the  exer- 
cise, but  they're  afraid  the  boys  and  girls  may 
carry  it  too  far,  and  injure  themselves.  They  do, 
sometimes.  Perhaps  Molly  would  like  to 
croquet.  There ! "  noticing  Molly's  pleased 
look,  "  that  will  be  the  very  thing.  Won't  it, 
Carl  ?  " 

"  Anything  the  rest  want,  suits  me,"  he  re- 
plied. 

"Let's  croquet,  then,"  said  Arthur.  "You 
know  how? "  to  Johnny. 


200       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  Oh,  yes.     We  have  a  set,"  he  replied. 

So  they  formed  the  party,  and  played  until  the 
dew  fell.  The  game  ended  just  as  the  suppei 
bell  sounded,  and  Arthur,  having  gathered  up 
the  balls  and  thrown  them  under  a  tree  with  the 
mallets,  followed  the  others  to  the  house. 

After  supper,  at  which  Mrs.  Staniford  and 
Mrs.  Rentz  presided,  they  went  into  the  music- 
room,  and  Pearl,  at  Mrs.  Stamford's  request, 
sat  down  to  the  piano,  and  played  very  sweetly, 
afterwards  singing  a  Barcarolle  in  the  chorus  cf 
which  Wallace  and  Mary  joined.  Then  Madge 
dashed  off  some  spirited  polkas,  and  gave  them  a 
comic  song  which  pleased  the  boys  wonderfully. 
Carl  reluctantly  tried  his  hand  at  a  march,  and 
then  Arthur  treated  them  to  some  imitations  of 
wind  and  stringed  instruments,  of  birds,  and 
running  water,  and  clinking  glasses,  and  I  don't 
know  what  other  musical  sounds,  and  ended  with 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.          201 

Thalberg's  inimitable  "Home,  Sweet  Home." 
His  touch  was  very  brilliant,  yet  delicate,  and 
wonderfully  expressive  ;  and  Pearl,  who  had 
never  heard  him  play  before,  was  charmed. 
Indeed,  she  could  not  find  words  to  express  her 
appreciative  admiration,  though  Arthur  saw 
behind  her  simple  "Thank  you.  You  don't 
know  how  much  I've  enjoyed  it,"  all  she  would 
have  been  glad  to  say  ;  for  her  eyes  were  liquid, 
and  her  cheeks  flushed  with  the  emotion  called 
up  by  his  exquisite  rendering  of  the  sweetly  pa- 
thetic melody  so  familiar  to  everybody.  Her 
silent  praise  pleased  him  more  than  the  most 
fulsome  compliments  could  have  done,  for  to 
one  who  conscientiously  strives  to  interpret  the 
beautiful  or  grand  to  others'  senses,  sympathy 
means  far  more  than  adulation.  Unconsciously, 
Pearl  contributed  to  Arthur's  enjoyment  quite  as 
much  as  he  had  done  to  hers;  and,  indeed, 


202       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Pearl  made  them  all  happy,  in  her  pretty, 
engaging,  loving  way;  and  I  think  that  Mrs. 
Staniford  owed  the  success  of  her  party  quite 
as  much  to  Pearl  Seccomb  as  to  anything  she 
had  herself  planned  for  the  children's  amusement 
and  pleasure. 

At  a  little  before  nine,  Michael  came  with  Mr. 
Seccomb's  carriage,  and  Peter  was  ready  to  take 
home  Johnny  and  Molly. 

Molly  whispered  to  Pearl,  while  the  boys  were 
saying  good-night  to  their  hostess  and  Mrs. 
Rentz,  — 

"  Isn't  Mrs.  Stamford  good?  " 

"  The  dearest,  kindest  woman.  I  love  her, 
Molly.  Don't  you  ?  " 

"  Yes,  indeed  I  do.  What  do  you  suppose 
Johnny  calls  her  ?  " 

"  I  can't  think.     «  Lady  Bountiful  ?  ' " 

"  No.    You  won't  tell  anybody  if  I  tell  you  ?  " 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.          203 

14  Not  if  you'd  rather  I  wouldn't." 

"  The  fat  fairy." 

Pearl  laughed,  —  her  own  musical  laugh. 

"  Isn't  it  funny  ?  "  she  asked.  "  It's  almost 
like  what  Wallace  calls  her." 

"Is  it?" 

"  Yes.  His  name  for  her  is,  '  The  fairy  of 
Stamford's  Folly.'  Oh  Molly!  I  wish  I  could 
be  such  a  good  fairy  as  she.  One  must  be  so 
happy  to  be  able  to  do  so  much  for  other  peo- 
ple ! " 

"  Come,  Pearl ! "  said  Wallace.  "  The  horses 
are  waiting." 

And  now  such  a  hugging  and  kissing  as  there 
was !  such  a  little  Babel  of  farewells  and  good 
wishes  !  —  the  boys,  of  course,  stealthily  making 
all  manner  of  fun  of  the  girls'  gushing  demon- 
strativeness. 

At  last,  they  were  all  ready,  and  the  carriages 
drove  away  in  the  darkness. 


204       The  Stamfords  of  Stamfords  Folly. 

Mrs.  Stamford  sighed  as  she  turned  back 
toward  the  house  ;  and  then  a  child's  hand  stole 
into  hers,  and  Lizzie's  voice  whispered, — 

«*  Mother ! " 

"  Well,  my  little  girl.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"Thank  you  for  letting  Pearl  come,  and 
Johnny,  and  Molly.'* 

"  Did  you  have  a  very  nice  time,  Lizzie  ?  " 

"  Yes.  The  nicest  I  ever  had.  And  I  love 
you  dearly." 

"  You  don't  love  her  any  better  than  I  do," 
said  Carl.  And  his  arm  was  about  her  waist  in 
a  moment. 

She  laid  her  broad  palm  upon  her  boy's  head, 
and  smoothed  his  silky  hair. 

"If  the  children  could  always  be  children," 
she  said. 

"But  there  wouldn't  be  any  men  and  women, 
then,"  he  replied. 


Molly  and  Johnny  meet  Pearl.          205 

"  No, —  no  wicked  ones.  *  Of  such  is  the 
kingdom  of  heaven,'  said  Jesus  of  the  children. 
Oh,  Carl  I  I  pray  God  that  your  heart  may  be 
kept  pure,  and  your  lips  guileless  !  " 

He  clasped  her  closer,  but  said  not  a  word. 


CHAPTER  X. 

JOHNNY  CONFIDES  IN  THE  DOCTOR. 

» 

[EARL  had  promised  Molly  that  she  would 
come  and  see  her.  Accordingly,  one 
pleasant  evening,  about  a  week  after  the 
visit  at  Mrs.  Stamford's,  Pearl  and  Wallace 
called  at  Doctor  Bowles's. 

The  Doctor  himself  received  them,  and  very 
cordially,  when  they  had  introduced  themselves  ; 
telling  them  that  their  mother  was  an  old  friend, 
and  that  he  had  known  their  father  for  a  number 

(206) 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          207 

of  years.  He  happened  to  be  at  leisure,  and 
with  Mrs.  Bowles's  help,  entertained  the  chil- 
dren's visitors,  until  Molly  and  Johnny  had 
worn  off  their  awkwardness  a  little,  when  he 
quietly  slipped  out,  Mrs.  Bowles  soon  following 
him,  and  the  young  people  were  left  to  them- 
selves. Wallace  was  very  polite,  and  Pearl  easy 
in  conversation,  and  Johnny  and  Molly  were 
both  charmed  with  their  new  acquaintances, 
Molly  secretly  resolving  that  she  would  study 
etiquette  a  little  more  attentively  than  she  had 
done,  and  do  up  her  hair  like  Pearl's ;  and 
Johnny  promising  himself  that  he  would  avoid 
the  use  of  slang,  and  black  his  shoes  every  day, 
hereafter.  For,  truth  to  tell,  he  was  rather 
ashamed  of  the  condition  of  his  Oxfords  that 
evening;  and  he  made  the  further  humiliating 
discovery  of  two  grease-spots  upon  his  trowsers, 
occasioned  by  his  neglect  of  Mrs.  Bowles's 


208       The  Stamfords  of /Stamford's  Folly. 

injunction  always  to  spread  his  napkin  in  his  lap 
before  eating. 

I  doubt  if  either  Pearl  or  Wallace  noticed 
them ;  they  certainly  did  not  appear  to ;  but  the 
effect  upon  Johnny  of  the  contrast  between 
Wallace  and  himself  was  most  excellent,  and 
Mrs.  Bowles  soon  observed,  to  her  great  gratifi- 
cation, that  he  was  becoming  more  orderly  in  his 
habits,  and  taking  better  care  of  his  clothing, 
than  he  had  heretofore  been  inclined  to  do. 

Of  course  the  call  was  returned ;  but  Johnny 
arranged  it  so  that  it  should  be  hi  the  afternoon, 
when  he  would  run  no  risk  of  meeting  Mr. 
Seccomb.  In  this,  however,  he  was  disappointed, 
for  it  happened  that  he  had  timed  the  visit 
directly  following  the  Seccombs'  dinner-hour ; 
and  as  they  were  ushered  into  the  drawing-room, 
Mr,  Seccomb  passed  the  door  to  go  out.  He  met 
Johnny's  quick,  searching  glance  for  an  instant ; 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          209 

but  he  did  not  recognize  the  boy.  However,  he 
knew  he  had  been  unpleasantly  impressed  by  the 
rencounter ;  and  all  the  way  to  the  store  on 
Washington  Street,  he  tried  to  recall  where  he 
had  seen  those  keen,  observant,  brown  eyes,  and 
under  what  circumstances. 

At  tea-time,  he  said  carelessly,  "  You  had 
visitors  early,  to-day,  Pearl." 

"  Yes,  papa,"  she  replied.  "  They  did  not 
know  that  we  dine  at  four.  Doctor  Bowles  dines 
at  one." 

"Doctor  Bowles?" 

"Yes,  papa.  Johnny  and  Molly  are  his 
adopted  children." 

"  That's  where  I  have  seen  the  boy,  then.  At 
church.  In  Doctor  Bowles's  pew.  I  don't  like 
his  looks." 

"  Why,   papa !    how   strange !     And   Wallace 
and  I  both  think  him  so  open  and  manly  1  " 
14 


210       The  Staniforda  of  Stamford* 8  Folly. 

"  His  eyes  impress  me  very  unpleasantly, 
Pearl." 

"  He  has  large  eyes,"  said  Wallace,  "  and  they 
take  iu  a  great  deal.  But  he  isn't  ill-mannered 
in  the  use  of  them." 

*'  Well,  — no ;  perhaps  not.  But  there's  some- 
thing about  them  that  is  anything  but  agreeable  ; 
at  least,  to  me.  I  don't  mean  in  that  way,  either, 
• — the  way  of  looking  intently  — '  staring,'  as  some 
call  it.  I  don't  say  that  he  stares ;  still,  I  don't 
like  his  expression,  though  I  saw  him  only  for  an 
instant,  to-day.  But  I've  thought  of  him  half  a 
dozen  times  this  afternoon  ;  and  do  what  I  will, 
I  can't  get  rid  of  the  impression  that  I've  seen 
those  eyes  at  a  reform-school,  or  on  board  the 
school-ship,  or  in  a  court-room,  or  under  some 
other  discreditable  circumstances." 

Poor  Johnny  I  So  much  for  honesty  I 

One  day  Pearl  said  laughingly,  "  Papa,  I  have 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          211 

mother's  permission  to  invite  two  dreadful  bug- 
bears to  tea,  some  evening  next  week." 

"  Ah  !  "  he  said.  "  Two  dreadful  bugbears. 
I'm  sure  I  don't  know  them.  They're  tame,  I 
hope,  and  dreadful  only  in  looks."  He  had  for- 
gotten about  Johnny  by  that  time. 

"  Doctor  Bowles's  adopted  children,"  she 
replied.  "  Don't  you  remember  what  fault  you 
found  with  Johnny's  eyes  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  yes.  You're  sure,  Pearl,  that  he  isn't  a 
runaway  from  some  reformatory  institution  ?  " 

"Perfectly.  The  two  children  always  lived 
with  their  widowed  mother  until  her  death, 
when  Mrs.  Bowles  took  them.  Mrs.  Stamford 
adopted  the  youngest  one,  —  Lizzie." 

"  Oh,  well.  I  suppose  there's  no  doubt.  It  is 
probably  a  freak  of  my  imagination.  Have  them 
come,  by  all  means,  —  if  you  like  them.  Doctor 
Bowles  is  respectable,  —  eminently  so;  and  hia 
wife,  I'm  told,  is  a  very  fine  woman." 


212       The  Stamfords  of  Staniford' s  Folly. 

The  invitation  was  accordingly  sent.  But  to 
the  astonishment  of  Mrs.  Bowles  and  Molly, 
Johnny  persistently  declined  to  go  with  his 
sister. 

44 1  think  you  might  tell  me  why  you  don't 
want  to  go  to  tea,  when  you're  not  afraid  to  call," 
said  Molly. 

"  I  shan't  call  there  again,"  said  Johnny. 

"  What  is  the  matter  ?  "  asked  Mrs.  Bowles. 
44  Did  Miss  Pearl  treat  you  impolitely,  my  boy  ?  " 

44  No,  ma'am.  Pearl  and  Wallace  were  very 
cordial,  and  I  like  them.'* 

"  Was  it  Mrs.  Seccomb,  then  ?  —  though  I 
can't  think  she  would  be  rude.' 

44 1  didn't  see  Mrs.  Seccomb  at  all,"  replied 
Johnny. 

44  Well,  what  is  the  trouble  ?  "  demanded  Molly, 
a  little  impatiently.  4t  You're  odd.  I  don't 
believe  you  have  any  good  reason  for  behaving 
so." 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          213 

"  Well,  then,  I  have,  —  the  best  of  reasons. 
But  I'm  not  obliged  to  tell  them  in  order  to 
prove  that  I  have  them." 

"  Don't  press  him,  Molly  dear,"  said  Mrs. 
Bowles.  "  For,  whether  they  are  good  or  not, 
Johnny  is  no  doubt  sincere  in  his  belief  that  they 
are.  Do  your  reasons  affect  Molly  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  No,  ma'am.  She  can  go,  if  she  likes,  for  all 
me.  But  she  wouldn't  go  if  she  knew  what  I 
do." 

Mrs.  Bowles  was  puzzled,  and  related  the 
conversation  to  the  doctor  that  evening. 

"  I'll  sound  Johnny,"  said  Doctor  Bowles. 
"  He  is  in  the  right  about  it,  somehow,  I'm  sure." 

The  next  day,  Johnny  came  into  the  office  to 
borrow  the  doctor's  Webster,  which  lay  upon 
the  table. 

"  Johnny,  my  lad,"  said  he,  "  how  comes  on 
the  corn  ?  I  haven't  seen  your  farm  lately." 


214       The  Stanifords  of  Staniforff  s  Folly. 

"  It  grows  like  Jack's  beanstalk,"  he  replied. 
"  And  I  think  we'll  be  able  to  dig  some  new 
potatoes  by  the  fourth  of  July.  We're  going  to 
have  some  of  Molly's  strawberries  for  supper  to- 
n5ght.  Gardening's  fun  alive." 

"  Is  it  ?  I'm  glad  you  like  it.  Out-door  exer- 
cise is  good  for  both  of  you.  How  do  you  get 
along  with  chess,  now-a-days,  Johnny  ?  Who 
beat,  Tuesday  evening  ?  Wasn't  that  the  time 
your  friend  Arthur  was  here  ? " 

"  Yes,  sir.  Oh,  he  beat,  of  course.  He's  a 
great  deal  better  player  than  I  am.  He  studies 
chess  problems,  and  has  plenty  of  time  to  work 
out  the  games.  But  I'm  gaining  a  little.  I  play 
better  than  I  did." 

"  What  did  you  do  without  your  black  knight  ? 
Katy  must  have  swept  him  into  the  dust-pan 
and  put  him  into  the  fire,  I  think." 

"  Oh,  we  patched  one  up,  and  made  him  go 


Johnny  Confides  in  tht  .Doctor.          215 

till  the  whole  one  was  taken,  and  then  we 
changed  one  for  the  other.  I  played  the  black 
pieces  myself.  I  always  do." 

"  You  should  try  the  white  ones,  sometimes, 
and  learn  how  to  manage  both.  How  would  you 
like  a  new  set,  my  boy  ?  —  one  that  would  stand 
a  little  steadier  upon  the  board  ?  " 

"  Well,  we  do  knock  them  over  pretty  often,  — 
that's  true.  And  they're  shabby,  besides." 

"  You  could  take  the  castles,  for  instance, 
pretty  easily,  by  direct  assault,  —  eh  ?  And  the 
knightly  armor  is  getting  rusty,  and  the  bishops 
have  broken  their  crooks ;  the,,  kings'  ermine  is 
soiled,  and  the  queens'  slippers  are  out  at  the 
toes,  and  the  common  soldiers  are  clamoring  to 
be  pensioned  off.  I  see  how  it  is.  We  must 
have  a  new  set  of  chessmen.  I've  had  my  eye, 
for  some  time  on  a  good,  substantial  one  that's 
been  standing  in  Dovale  &  Seccomb's  window,— 


216       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

marked  five  dollars,  I  believe.  You  may  stop 
in  and  get  it  as  you  come  home  from  school,  if 
you'd  like.  Find  Mr.  Seccomb,  and  tell  him  I 
will  see  him  about  it  to-night.  I  have  an  ap- 
pointment with  him  at  eight  o'clock, — a  little 
business." 

Johnny's  countenance  fell. 

"  Ah  !  it's  Mr.  Seccomb,  then !  "  thought  the 
doctor.  He  had  fancied  it  was  the  children,  — 
possibly  the  married  brother  or  sister. 

"  I'd  rather  not  go  in  there,  sir,"  said  Johnny. 

"  Not  go  in  there  ?  Why,  my  boy,  there  isn't 
a  more  respectable  store  in  town.  What  is  the 
trouble  with  Dovale  &  Seccomb  ?  " 

"  I  don't  like  the  clerks  they  have  there,"  he 
replied,  evasively.  "  They  haven't  any  man- 
ners." 

"  But  you  are  not  to  see  the  clerks.  Your 
errand  is  to  be  with  Mr.  Seccomb.  Go  right 
through  the  store  to  the  counting-room." 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          217 

"  I'd  rather  not  go,  sir.  I  don't  want  to  speak 
to  Mr.  Seccomb." 

"You  have  done  nothing,  I  hope,  Johnny," 
said  the  doctor,  a  little  sternly,  "  which  makes 
you  either  ashamed  or  afraid  to  meet  that  gentle- 
man ?  " 

Johnny  fired  up  instantly. 

"  No,  sir !  I  haven't.  I'm  not  ashamed  of 
myself,  nor  afraid  of  him ;  but  I  am  ashamed  of 
him,  and  if  he's  not  afraid  to  meet  me,  he  may 
not  want  to." 

"Tut!  tut!  tut!" 

"  Well  sir,  I'll  keep  still,  then." 

"  Now,  Johnny,"  said  the  doctor,  "tell  me  what 
all  this  is  about.  I  want  to  know.  Make  a 
clean  breast  of  the  matter." 

"  It's  something  that  happened  before  I  came 
here  to  live,"  replied  Johnny,  "  and  I  don't 
want  to  tell." 


218       The  Stamfords  of  Stanford1  s  Folly. 

44  But  it's  nothing  you  have  reason  to  be 
ashamed  of,  it  seems." 

"  No  sir  I  " —  his  brown  eyes  steadfast,  and  his 
lips  firm. 

44  Make  me  your  confidant,  then,  my  boy.  I 
may  be  of  use  to  you  in  the  matter.  Possibly 
what  you  know  may  be  of  use  to  me.  And  as 
for  your  secret,  whatever  it  is,  you  may  rest 
assured  that  it  will  be  safe  with  me." 

Johnny  hesitated,  and  then  manfully  told  the 
whole  story. 

44  Now  see,  my  boy,  what  comes  of  candor," 
said  the  doctor,  when  he  had  finished.  "  I  have 
a  great  deal  more  confidence  in  you  than  I  had 
before.  I  feel  safer  about  your  future  than  I 
have  done,  after  catching  this  glimpse  of  your 
past.  I  am  proud  of  you,  my  brave  lad,  and 
shall  be  proud  to  have  you  call  me  4  father,'  and 
Mrs.  Bowles  4  mother,'  whenever  you  feel  that 
you  can  do  so. 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          219 

"  And  more  than  this.  It  has  given  me  a  new 
insight  into  Mr.  Seccomb's  character.  You  have 
told  me  something  in  confidence  ;  in  return,  to 
show  you  that  I  trust  you,  I  will  tell  you  some- 
thing. Mr.  Seccomb's  affairs  are  in  a  very 
critical  condition,  and  he  has  been  obliged  to 
borrow  money  very  largely.  He  has  asked  me 
to  endorse  for  him,  and  I  had  partially  agreed 
to  do  so.  That  was  my  business  with  him 
to-night.  But  a  man  who  has  so  light  an 
opinion  of  honorable  dealing  as  you  have  shown 
that  Mr.  Seccomb  has, — a  man  who  will  be 
guilty  of  such  paltry  meanness  in  small  affairs, — 
is  not  to  be  trusted  in  greater ;  and  I  shall  decline 
to  accommodate  him.  The  old  adage  '  Straws 
tell  which  way  the  wind  blows,'  is  as  true  as  if 
Solomon  had  originated  it,  instead  of  some  other 
wise  man  ;  and  I  think  the  sequel  will  prove  my 
judgment  in  this  case  to  have  been  correct.  I 


220       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

will  buy  the  chess  men  myself,  Johnny.  Your 
feeling  is  a  very  reasonable  one,  and,  if  1  were 
you,  I  would  keep  out  of  Dovale  &  Seccomb's, 
and  away  from  Mr.  Seccomb's  house.  As  to  the 
son  and  daughter,  treat  them  well  always,  so 
long  as  they  prove  themselves  worthy  ^of  your 
esteem,  and  imitate  whatever  you  see  in  them 
that  is  good  and  admirable.  Children  are 
seldom  to  blame  for  the  faults  and  vices  of  their 
parents,  though  parents  often  are  for  those  of 
their  children.  Miss  Pearl  and  Master  Wallace 
evidently  have  been  well  brought  up,  and  seem 
to  have  no  inherent  littlenesses.  Well,  their 
mother  is  a  very  lovely  woman.  I'm  sorry  that 
you  are  barred  out  there  on  account  of  the 
father,  but  I  will  try  and  manage  it  so  that  you 
children  shall  keep  up  the  acquaintance,  if  you 
choose,  without  much  visiting  on  your  side." 
But,  in  this  instance,  Mr.  Seccomb  took  the 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.  221 

"  managing  "  quite  out  of  the  doctor's  hands  ; 
for,  the  doctor  declining  to  become  his  security, 
he  grew  wrathful,  and  indulged  in  profanity, 
and  when  he  came  home,  vented  his  spite  still 
further  in  a  very  petty  way, —  thus:  he  sat 
down  and  wrote  a  note  inviting  his  sister  and 
her  two  children  to  spend  the  day  at  his  house, 
appointing  for  their  coming  the  very  time  which 
Pearl  had  set  for  her  visitors.  When  Mrs. 
Ward's  answer  arrived,  saying  that  she  would 
be  happy  to  make  her  brother  the  proposed  visit, 
he  told  Pearl  to  write  to  Johnny  and  Molly  that 
her  aunt  and  cousins  from  Moorfield  had  sent 
word  they  were  coming  to  Englewood,  and  she 
must  therefore  postpone  the  invitation  to  them 
to  tea ;  "  and,  Pearl,"  he  added,  "  I  choose  that 
it  be  postponed  indefinitely,  and  that  you  and 
Wallace  bring  your  acquaintance  with  the 
Bowleses  to  a  termination.  Doctor  Bowles  and 


222       The  Stantfordst  of  Staniford' s  Folly. 

myself  have  ceased  to  be  friends,  and  I  don't 
wish  ray  family,  in  the  future,  to  have  anything 
to  do  with  his." 

Pearl  was  both  surprised  and  shocked. 

"  But,  papa,  what  will  they  all  think  ?  "  she 
asked.  "  Johnny,  and  Molly,  and  Mrs.  Bowles. 
I'm  afraid  they  will  think  me  very  rude,  and  that 
would  make  me  feel  dreadfully,  for  I  like  them 
all,  and  don't  want  to  be  uncivil  to  them." 

"  Never  mind  what  they  think.  You  needn't 
break  off  suddenly.  It,  e.an  he  done  well  enough 
by  degrees.  But  I  want  your  growing  intimacy 
with  the  Bowleses  to  cease.  My  reasons  are  my 
own,  SUM!  in  my  estimation  are,  sufficient,  and  you 
and  Wallace  must  respect  them." 

"  Certainly  we '  will,  papa,"  replied  Pearl. 
"  But  I  am  very,  very  sorry." 

Pearl  made  known    her  lather's   ultimatum    to 

Wallace,  as  he  had  requested  her  to  do ;  but, 


Johnny  Confides  \n  the  Doctor.          223 

not  altogether  unexpectedly  to  her,  Wallace  de- 
murred. 

"  Papa's  affair  isn't  ours,"  he  said,  "  and  I 
don't  know  why  we  should  be  made  to  take  up 
his  quarrels." 

"  It  is  too  bad,  Wallace,*'  replied  Pearl.  «« But 
then  papa  has  given  us  a  direct  command,  and 
it's  our  duty  to  obey  him.  But  if  we  must  ap- 
pear to  feel  angry,  we  needn't  be  angry,  you 
know." 

"  Thai's  true.  And  I  shall  tell  Doctor  Bowles 
just  how  the  case  stands,  that  he  may  be  con- 
vinced it  isn't  our  doing,  and  that  we  like  them 
all  just  as  well  as  ever.  But  I'd  give  considera- 
ble to  know  what's  at  the  bottom  of  it." 

The  note  was  despatched,  according  to  Mr 
Seccomb's  directions,  and  Molly  was  the  only 
ono  disappointed  by  the  '  postp;uu>m;Mit  '  ;  but 
then  she  was  not  in  the  secret  which  lay  behind 


224       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford?  s  Folly. 

it.  Afterward,  Wallace  met  Doctor  Bowles  one 
day  upon  the  street,  and  told  him  how  Pearl 
and  he  felt,  but  that  they  were  convinced  it  was 
their  duty  to  submit  to  their  parent's  wishes  in 
the  matter  and  sacrifice  their  inclinations. 

"  That  is  all  very  right,"  replied  the  doctor, 
and  I  honor  you  for  your  obedience  to  an  unjust 
command  —  for  such  it  is,  in  this  instance,  as  I 
could  prove  to  you,  if  it  were  worth  while.  But 
that  is  neither  here  nor  there  ;  you  do  right  to 
obey,  and  you  would  do  wrong,  if  you  did  not. 
Tell  Miss  Pearl  that  we  understand  all  about  it, 
her  feelings  and  yours,  as  well  as  Mr.  Seccomb's ; 
and  that  we  shan't  think  any  the  less  of  that 
gentleman's  daughter  and  son  because  they  are 
good  children.  We  are  all  the  more  sorry  for 
our  loss  on  account  of  it.  Here's  my  hand,  Wal- 
lace,—  the  hand  of  an  honorable  man,  believe 
me,  whatever  you  may  have  been  led  to  think  to 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.  225 

the  contrary,  as  yours  is  of  an  honorable  lad.  I 
wish  you  the,best  that  life  can  give  to  you,  and 
that's  a  sterling  character  and  a  stainless  name, 
and  if  I  am  not  greatly  deceived  in  you,  ray  wish 
will  be  realized.  Good-day,  Wallace.  We  part 
friends,  I  am  confident." 

"  That  we  do,  sir,"  returned  Wallace,  heartily. 
"  And  I  thank  you  for  your  kind  words." 

A  month  passed;  and  one  morning,  Do  vale  & 
SeccomVs  Bazaar  was  not  open  as  usual,  but 
the  shutters  remained  up  all  day.  Then  it  began 
to  be  whispered  about  that  a  screw  was  loose 
somewhere,  that  it  wasn't  quite  right  with  the 
firm ;  and  by  the  next  forenoon,  the  truth  be- 
came pretty  widely  known.  They  had  failed  for 
two  hundred  thousand  dollars,  and  the  stock  was 
mortgaged,  at  that.  City  firms  lost  heavily  ;  but 
Englewood  suffered,  too ;  for  Nahum  Staniford 
and  Mr.  Holland  had  both  endorsed  for  Mr. 
15 


226       The  Stanifords  of  Stanford's  Folly. 

Seccomb,  and  were  largely  out  of  pocket  in  con- 
sequence. 

"Johnny,"  said  the  doctor,  that  evening, 
*'  how  much  money  do  you  suppose  you  have 
earned  for  me  within  a  month  ?  " 

Johnny  colored. 

"  Not  a  cent,  sir.  I  wish  I  had  ;  for  I'm  afraid 
I  cost  you  a  good  deal." 

"  Then  you  don't  think  farming  profitable,  I 
take  it,"  he  said,  laughing. 

"  Oh,  if  that's  what  you  mean,  —  " 

"  No ;  it  isn't.  I  don't  refer  to  the  farm  at 
all,  although  I  am  quite  aware  that  it's  a  credit 
to  you,  as  well  as  a  convenience  to  Mrs.  Bowles, 
and  may  be  a  decided  success  financially,  —  I'll 
inquire  into  that,  sometime,  for  our  mutual  satis- 
faction. But  that  isn't  the  speculation  I  had  in 
mind.  You  know  they  say,  Johnny,  that  *  a 
penny  saved  is  a  penny  earned.'  If  such  be  the 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.          227 

case,  you  have  earned  ten  thousand  dollars  for 
me." 

Johnny  opened  his  eyes  wide,  you  may  be 
sure. 

"  I  don't  see  how,  sir,"  he  replied. 

"  Don't  you  ?  Well,  I  didn't  endorse  for  Mr. 
Seccomb  the  other  day.  And  he's  failed,  sys- 
tematically. How's  that  ?  " 

"  Then,"  said  Johnny,  "  I'm  glad  I  told  you 
what  I  did,  though  I  didn't  want  to,  and  thought 
you'd  no  right  to  —  to  pump  me  so.  But  I 
won't  feel  that  way  another  time,  Doctor 
Bowles." 

" '  Doctor  Bowles,'  — '  Doctor  Bowles,'  "  he 
repeated.  "  Always  '  Doctor  Bowles.'  Why, 
that's  what  strangers  call  me,  and  people  I  don't 
care  anything  about,  and  enemies  who  would 
like  to  ruin  me.  But  I  think  when  my  son,  who 
has  somehow  grown  into  my  heart  through  giving 


228       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

me  his  confidence,  has  saved  me  ten  thousand 
dollars  as  well  by  his  manly  confession ,  he  might 
call  me  '  father,'  — just  once." 

"  Then  I  will,  sir  I  "  returned  Johnny ;  "  for 
you've  been  a  father  to  me  ever  since  I  came 
here,  and  a  good  one,  too,  and  there's  nothing  I 
wouldn't  do  for  you.  I  hope  you  haven't  thought 
me  ungrateful  because  I'm  odd  sometimes.  It 
don't  seem  as  though  I  could  help  that,  but  I'm 
going  to  try  to,  and  perhaps  I  may  outgrow  it 
some  day.  At  any  rate,  I'm  not  ungrateful ;  and 
if  you  could  see  inside  of  me,  you'd  know  that 
I  thanked  you  through  and  through,  and  all  the 
time,  too,  for  this  good  home,  and  everybody's 
kind  words,  and  your  love,  —  father !  " 

And,  looking  up  into  the  doctor's  face,  as  he 
spoke  the  words  so  hard  to  utter,  he  saw  —  tears 
in  the  man's  eyes. 

After  that,  —  would  you  believe  it  ?  —  it 
always  came  easy  for  him  to  say  it. 


Johnny  Confides  in  the  Doctor.           229 

But  it  took  poor  Johnny  a  good  while  longer 
to  call  Mrs.  Bowles  "  mother,"  gentle  as  she  was 
to  him.  For  he  could  not  forget  her  who  had 
given  him  life,  and  cared  for  him  so  many  years, 
bearing  her  wearisome  burdens  uncomplainingly, 
and  loving  her  children  with  a  devotion  such  as 
no  other  human  being  could  ever  feel  for  them. 

And  Mrs.  Bowles  did  not  urge  it.  She  had 
not  the  heart  to  wound  him.  As  long  as  he  was 
dutiful,  what  did  it  matter  ?  A  little,  perhaps, 
because  she  had  learned  to  call  him  her  child, 
and  to  feel  that  he  belonged  to  her.  But  then 
she  was  willing  to  wait. 

And  because  she  was  willing  to  wait,  the  desire 
of  her  heart  was  given  to  her. 

But  I  cannot  tell  you  how,  unless  I  take  you 
to  Shute's  Falls, — is  not  that  strange?  —  and 
before  going  to  Shute's  Falls,  we  must  stop  at 
Mr.  Staniford's  office. 


CHAPTER  XL       . 

THE  RESCUEj 

ma  R.  STANIFORD  was  in  the  wholesale 
grain  business ;  and  he  had  agencies  in 
Chicago,  Buffalo,  and  Ogdensburg. 
His  eldest  son,  William,  had  been  at  one  time 
in  his  employ  ;  but  on  account  of  certain  irregu- 
larities, was  quietly  advised  to  seek  a  situation 
elsewhere,  his  father  recommending  him  —  as  he 
had  no  right  to  do, —  to  the  firm  whom  he  after- 
wards wronged.  His  crime  against  them  was 

(230) 


The  Rescue.  231 

forgery ;  and  his  employers,  learning  through 
other  parties  of  his  former  dishonesty,  were  not  a 
little  incensed  against  Mr.  Stamford  himself,  and 
would  not  come  to  any  terms  with  him.  The 
consequence  was  that  William  fled  to  England 
to  escape  the  clutches  of  the  law,  and  carried  a 
new  disgrace  with  him  in  his  flight,  which  it  is 
not  necessary  to  mention  here. 

At  eighteen,  Horace  also  became  a  clerk  for 
his  father,  and  being  a  good  accountant,  was 
promoted,  after  a  year's  service.  But  his  dissi- 
pated habits  began  to  be  disastrous  to  the 
business.  He  made  blunders  in  his  entries, 
forgot  to  attend  to  commissions  he  was  appointed 
to  execute,  and  left  things  at  loose  ends 
generally.  If  he  wanted  a  day's  pleasure,  he 
took  the  time,  and  left  the  junior  clerks  to  do 
his  work ;  and  was  angry  when  he  returned,  if 
they  had  not  obeyed  his  orders. 


232       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

His  father  talked  with  him ;  but  advice  and 
remonstrance  failing  to  work  a  reform,  he  told 
Horace,  as  he  had  told  William,  that  he  must 
find  some  other  employer. 

Horace  found  one  ;  but  unfortunately  it  was 
the  one  who  furnishes  "  mischief "  for  "  idle 
hands ; "  and  he  gave  him  plenty  to  do  at  the 
Englewood  House,  in  the  way  of  smoking, 
drinking,  and  billiard  playing,  and  at  the  race- 
coarse,  in  the  way  of  betting. 

The  race-course  was  two  miles  out  of  Engle- 
wood, and  reached  by  a  road  running  across 
Shute's  Creek, —  a  narrow,  inky  stream,  with  a 
deep  and  rapid  current,  which  flowed  around 
Englewood,  and  emptied  into  a  broad,  smooth, 
flowing  river. 

The  bridge  was  an  old  one,  with  a  wooden 
railing  on  either  side,  decayed  and  broken. 
There  was  a  better  bridge,  higher  up  the  stream ; 


The  Rescue.  233 

but  as  this  was  the  nearest  to  the  race-ground,  it 
•was  the  one  usually  chosen  by  turf  men  and 
their  friends.  Horace  always  took  this  road 
rather  than  the  turnpike,  since  it  shortened  his 
distance  nearly  half  a  mile. 

Not  far  below  the  lower  bridge  was  the  falls, 
a  descent  in  the  creek  partly  natural  and  partly 
artificial.  It  was  a  cataract  of  three  falls,  giving, 
when  the  creek  was  high,  immense  water-power 
advantage,  and  this  had  been  improved  by  saw- 
mills, grist-mills,  and  paper-mills,  till  there  was 
quite  a  settlement  in  the  vicinity.  Here  Doctor 
Bowles  had  one  or  two  patients,  one  of  whom 
was  ill  of  congestive  fever,  and  in  a  very  critical 
condition,  requiring  two  visits  daily. 

One  afternoon, —  it  was  the  month  of  July, — 
the  doctor  asked  Johnny  how  he  would  like  to 
get  into  the  chaise  and  ride  over  to  Falls  Village 
with  him.  "  We  will  stop  at  the  paper-mills,  if 


234       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

you  say  so,"  he  added,  "  when  I  have  made  my 
call  at  Mr.  Hole's." 

Johnny's  countenance  brightened  in  a  mo- 
ment. 

*'  I  should  like  it  very  much,  sir,"  he 
answered.  *4  Are  you  in  earnest,  father  ?  May 
I  go?" 

"  Yes.  Jump  in.'*  And  they  drove  off 
together. 

But  when  the  doctor  got  to  the  other  side  of 
the  bridge,  he  found  waiting  for  him  a  surgical 
case.  Ten  minutes  before,  a  man  had  fallen 
down  the  elevator  at  one  of  the  grist-mills,  and 
lay  groaning  in  agony  upon  some  sacks  of  grain 
on  the  lower  floor  of  the  mill.  Of  course  he 
must  attend  to  him ;  so  Johnny  drove  the  horse 
across  the  street  into  Mr.  Hale's  barn,  tied  him, 
and  went  down  to  the  river  to  look  at  the  falls. 

Built  against  either  bank  was  a  wall  of  heavy 


The  Rescue.  235 

stone  masonry  to  break  the  force  of  the  water 
where  it  would  be  likely  otherwise  to  undermine 
and  wash  away  the  earth ;  and  out  to  the  very 
edge  of  one  of  these  parapets  Johnny  walked, 
and  watched  the  trembling,  writhing,  seething 
flood,  sending  its  spray  high  into  the  air,  the 
white  spume  frothing  and  curdling  downwards  in 
angry  eddies,  and  losing  itself  by  degrees  in  little 
foamy  streamlets  in  the  dark  mass  of  waters 
rushing  to  feed  the  great  mill-wheels. 

He  had  not  noticed  what  the  doctor  had,  that 
clouds  were  gathering ;  but  a  sudden  flash  of 
lightning,  succeeded  by  a  sharp  crack,  and  a  rat- 
tle and  rumble  like  the  discharge  of  musketry 
and  artillery  at  a  distance  startled  him,  and  he 
looked  up  to  see  the  sky  covered  with  angry 
looking  clouds  trailing  their  fleeces  across  the 
sun,  and  huddling  together  in  ominous  masses. 
Then  came  a  quick  gust  of  wind,  and  with  it  a 


236       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford' '«  Folly. 

few  drops  spattered  down.  Then  followed  a 
strange  silence,  and  it  began  to  grow  darker. 
Another  flash, —  almost  blinding, — succeeded  by  a 
thunder-peal  so  loud  and  terrific  that  it  seemed 
to  shake  the  earth, -and  jar  the  wall  upon  which 
Johnny  was  standing.  He  drew  back  a  little 
from  its  verge,  half  in  fear,  and  the  next  moment 
a  red  bolt  shot  across  the  leaden  sky,  and  fell 
into  the  top  of  a  huge  chestnut  tree  standing 
upon  the  opposite  side  of  the  creek,  opening  it 
like  a  fan,  and  tearing  up  the  ground  at  its  roots. 
Oh  !  what  a  crash  was  that  which  followed  it ! 
and  down  fell  the  big  drops, —  first  a  little  show- 
er, and  then  a  torrent.  Johnny  started  up  the 
bank,  for  he  was  really  frightened  now ;  but 
while  he  was  running  he  heard  an  angry  shout, 
then  curses,  and  the  clatter  of  a  horse's  hoofs 
upon  the  little  bridge,  with  a  cry  for  help.  A 
thick  growth  of  bushes  on  the  margin  of  the 


The  Kescue.  237 

stream  obscured  his  view  for  an  instant ;  but 
he  passed  them,  reaching  an  opening,  just  in 
time  to  see  a  black  horse  rear  and  plunge,  a 
plank  fly  up,  the  railing  give  way,  and  horse  and 
buggy  precipitated  into  the  inky  flood  below. 
The  harness  broke  as  the  buggy  fell,  and  the 
horse, —  a  powerful  animal, — almost  regained 
his  footing ;  but  not  quite.  After  one  frantic 
effort,  he  plunged  downward,  falling  upon  his 
back,  and  striking  the  carriage  just  as  it  disap- 
peared beneath  the  water.  He  righted  himself, 
struggled,  and  sank  ;  and  then  Johnny  observed 
a  man's  head,  bruised  and  bleeding,  come  to  the 
surface  not  a  dozen  yards  above  where  he  stood, 
and  only  a  few  feet  from  the  bank. 

There  was  a  slight  bend  in  the  stream  at  this 
point ;  and  along  the  curve  were  four  or  five 
young  ash-trees,  tall  and  supple,  one  of  which 
grew  close  to  the  water's  edge, —  indeed,  so  close 


238      The  Stamfords  ef  Stamford's  Folly. 

that  a  last  spring's  freshet  had  washed  its  roots 
quite  bare  of  earth,  and  it  lay  supine,  its  branches 
dipping  -into  the  current,  and  only  waiting 
for  another  rise  in  the  creek  to  be  borne  down- 
ward over  the  falls. 

Johnny's  quick  eyes  saw  the  means  of  rescue. 
He  plunged  boldly  into  the  water,,  and  caught 
the  man's  sleeve,  as  he  drifted  toward  him,  the 
swift  tide  bearing  them  on,  to  the  point  of  the 
bend.  They  struck  the  tree,  and  Johnny  grasped 
it  firmly,  and  getting  his  arm  around  it,  worked 
his  way  slowly  toward  the  lower  branches.  It 
bent  beneath  his  weight,  the  upper  part  of  it  be- 
ing now  wholly  under  water ;  but  that  helped 
him  in  this  respect, —  that  it  partially  broke  the 
force  of  the  current,  and  enable  him  to  retain 
his  hold  of  the  drowning  man.  How  he  got  him 
to  the  bank  he  could  never  tell,  for  the  rain 
dashed  into  his  face,  the  lightning  was  almost 


The  Rescue.  239 

incessant,  and  he  had  used  every  particle  of 
strength  he  was  capable  of  exerting,  being  so 
thoroughly  exhausted  when  he  reached  a  spot 
of  safety,  that  he  trembled  violently  from  head 
to  foot,  and  could  scarcely  drag  himself  into  the 
partial  shelter  of  the  bushes. 

But  he  did  not  lie  there  long.  The  horse  had 
gone  over  the  falls,  and  the  buggy-top  as  well, 
and  a  mill-hand  had  discovered  them  as  they 
reached  the  flume,  and  called  for  assistance; 
and  Johnny  hearing  the  men's  voices  shouting 
along  the  bank  in  the  intervals  of  the  thunder, 
managed  at  last  to  bring  them  to  his  aid. 

As  they  turned  the  apparently  lifeless  body 
over,  and  carefully  lifted  it,  Johnny  thought  he 
detected  in  the  face  a  likeness  to  some  one  he 
had  seen,  and  all  at  once  it  rushed  upon  him 
that  he  must  have  known  the  horse.  It  could 
be  no  other  than  Mr.  Staniford's  superb  black 


240       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

horse,  "  Monarch,"  and  the  young  man  whom  he 
had  drawn  out  of  the  water  was  Horace 
himself. 

He  found  his  feet  after  awhile,  and  dragged 
himself  back  to  Mr.  Hale's  house,  where  he  met 
Doctor  Bowles,  who  had  been  not  a  little  anxious 
about  him.  His  story  was  told  in  a  few  minutes, 
and  Mrs.  Hale  made  him  come  in  and  change 
his  wet  clothes,  while  the  doctor  went  to  the 
succor  of  Horace,  who  had  been  carried  to  the 
tavern. 

It  was  a  long  time  before  he  gave  any  signs  of 
life,  and  when  he  did,  his  mind  seemed  to  be 
affected,  and  he  talked  wildly  and  incoherently. 

He  had  suffered  a  severe  concussion  of  the 
brain,  and  there  was  danger  of  inflammation  and 
jongestion. 

They  sent  for  a  coach,  and  laid  him  in  it  upon 
ft  ecft  Hed,  the  doctor  giving  directions  that  the 


The  Rescue.  241 

horses  should  not  be  driven  faster  than  a  walk, 
while  he  took  Johnny  into  the  chaise,  and  rode 
over  to  Stamford's  Folly  to  prepare  the  mother 
for  the  sad  reception. 

Mrs.  Staniford  met  him  all  smiles  and  cor- 
diality. 

"  Why,  doctor  !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  were  you 
out  in  the  storm  ?  That  is  too  bad.  But  I  sup- 
pose you  have  been  to  see  poor  Mr.  Hale.  Tell 
me,  how  is  he  to-day  ?  And  Johnny,  too  ?  Do 
come  in,  —  both." 

"  Mr.  Hale  is  a  little  more  comfortable,"  re- 
plied the  doctor.  "  He  has  not  quite  so  high  a 
fever  this  afternoon.  But  Johnny  and  I  are  too 
wet  to  come  in.  We  must  get  to  Myrtle  Street 
as  soon  as  possible.  And,  Mrs.  Stamford,  Horace 
is  on  the  way  home.  He  —  he  met  with  an 
accident  in  Falls  Village." 

"What!  sir?  An  accident?  What  kind 
16 


242       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

of  an  accident  ?  Was  it  very  severe  ?  "  and  as 
the  doctor  looked  into  her  face,  he  saw  that 
•every  particle  of  color  had  fled  from  it,  and  she 
was  grasping  at  the  door  jamb  for  support. 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  madam,  that  I  fear  it  is 
quite  serious,"  he  replied.  "  It  happened  at  the 
lower  bridge.  The  horse  became  unmanageable 
through  fright,  and  backed  off  into  the  creek ; 
and  though  Horace  did  not  go  over  the  falls,  his 
head  is  badly  injured.  I  have  done  the  best  I 
could  for  him,  having  been  fortunately  upon  the 
spot  at  the  time  ;  and  after  I  have  taken  Johnny 
to  Myrtle  Street,  will  return  and  meet  the 
Coach  when  it  comes,  and  we  will  have  him 
placed  comfortably  in  bed.  But,  Mrs.  Stani- 
ford,  one  thing  is  essential,  he  must  have  a  faith- 
ful nurse." 

"  He  shall  have  no  nurse,  doctor,  but  his 
mother,"  she  replied.  "And  you  may  trust 
her." 


The  Rescue.  243 

"  But,  my  dear  madam  —  " 

"  Not  a  word,  doctor.  No  one  shall  take  care 
of  my  poor  boy  but  me.  No  one  loves  him  as 
I  do." 

The  doctor  did  not  tell  her  what  he  had  dis- 
covered, —  that  Horace  had  been  indulging  in 
brandy,  and  was  probably  intoxicated  at  the  time 
of  the  accident,  and  that  the  quantity  of  liquor 
he  had  swallowed  made  the  congestion  more 
imminent, — but  such  was  the  fact. 

He  took  Johnny  home,  and  then  drove  back  to 
Mrs.  Staniford's,  alighting  at  the  door  just  as  the 
coach  entered  the  gateway.  Meantime,  Mr. 
Stamford  had  been  sent  for,  but  had  not  yet 
arrived,  not  being  at  his  Englewood  office  ;  and 
the  coachman  and  Peter  carefully  carried  the 
young  man  to  his  chamber,  where  the  bed  had 
been  prepared  by  Mrs.  Staniford  and  Alice. 

His  wound  had  already  been  cleansed   and 


244       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

properly  dressed ;  and  now  the  tavern  blankets 
were  removed  and  others  substituted  ;  and  Mrs. 
Stamford  and  Mrs.  Rentz  sat  by  his  side,  vainly 
watching  for  a  glance  of  recognition.  But  his 
mind  still  wandered,  his  eyes  roved  wildly,  and 
he  only  muttered  things  unintelligible. 

The  doctor  staid  with  him  for  two  hours,  and 
then  left  directions  with  regard  to  the  bandages 
and  medicines,  promising  to  come  again  early 
next  morning. 

But  at  midnight  Johnny  was  taken  very  ill, 
—  threatened  with  fever,  and  racked  with  pain, — 
and  Doctor  Bowles  did  not  reach  Mrs.  Staniford's 
until  nearly  ten  o'clock. 

Mrs.  Arnold  met  him  in  the  hall,  and  bowed 
very  coolly,  for  she  disliked  him  exceedingly,  — 
though  for  what  reason  she  could  not  for  her  life 
have  told,  since  he  was  a  gentleman,  fine  looking, 
easy  and  affable,  skilful  in  his  profession,  and 


The  Meseue.  245 

very  kind  at  heart.  It  was  '  her  way  *  to  be 
uncivil,  when  she  chose,  and  that  is  all  that 
can  be  said  about  it. 

As  soon  as  he  entered  the  room,  Mrs.  Rentz 
came  forward  in  her  usual  impulsive  manner. 
"  Oh,  doctor !  "  she  exclaimed,  "  why  didn't  you 
come  sooner  ?  You  don't  know  how  anxious  we 
have  been,  and  it  does  look  as  though  you  were 
hard-hearted.  I  could  cry  with  vexation  and 
indignation  to  think  you  should  have  the  cruelty 
to  keep  us  in  such  suspense.  Now  was  it  not 
cruel  ?  But  mother  wouldn't  let  me  send  for 
you,  because  she  said  you  knew  how  critical  the 
'situation  was,  and  would  come  just  as  soon  as 
you  could." 

"  As  I  did,"  he  replied.  *4  Johnny  is  very  ill 
this  morning." 

Mrs.  Stamford  looked  up  quickly.  "  Johnny 
ill  ?  "  she  asked.  "  How  is  that,  doctor  ?  " 


246       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1 s  Folly. 

"  He  took  a  severe  cold  from  being  so  long  in 
the  water,  I  suspect.  And  then  he  must  have 
over-exerted  himself,  besides.  He  has  a  rljeu- 
matic  fever.'* 

"  What  did  you  say  ?  That  he  was  in  the 
water  ?  " 

"  Yes.  It  was  Johnny  who  rescued  Horace, 
yesterday,  in  time  to  prevent  his  going  over  the 
falls." 

"  Johnny  saved  Horace  ?  Why !  he  is  a  mere 
lad !  And  you  never  told  us  of  it  I  "  exclaimed 
Mrs.  Rentz.  Then  going  up  to  the  doctor,  she 
took  both  his  hands.  "  And  I  spoke  so  harshly 
to  you  just  now.  Forgive  me,  Doctor  Bowles. 
I  am  always  saying  something  I  ought  not  to,  I 
believe,  and  then  begging  pardon  for  it  after- 
wards. The  boy  is  a  hero  I  and  I  am  very,  very 
Borry  he  is  ill.  Tell  him  we  thank  him  more 
than  words  can  utter,  and  that  we  love  him  for 
being  so  brave." 


The  Beseue.  247 

" Poor  Johnny  !  "  said  Mrs.  Staniford.  "Yes, 
tell  the  dear  child,  that  whether  Horace  lives  or 
dies,  we  can  never  repay  him,  doctor.  It  seems 
hard  that  he  should  have  to  suffer  for  his  noble 
act,  but  God  will  solve  the  mystery  for  us,  one 
of  these  days.  He  knows  best.  He  has  some 
good  design  in  it,  or  he  would  not  add  your 
trouble  to  mine,  dear  friend." 

"  No,"  replied  the  doctor.  "  Sickness  and 
suffering  have  their  moral  uses ;  that  I  firmly 
believe.  And' time  reveals  them." 

He  leant  over  and  looked  at  his  patient ; 
then  drawing  a  chair  to  the  bedside,  counted 
his  pulse. 

"  What  do  you  think  of  him  ? "  asked  the 
anxious  mother. 

"  He  is  weaker  to-day,  but  there  is  less  dan- 
ger. I  shall  change  the  medicine,  but  wish  you 
to  continue  the  wet  bandages  ;  and  for  diet,  give 
him  only  the  simplest  gruel,  a  little  at  a  time." 


248       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

"  Thank  God  for  so  much  encouragement !  " 
exclaimed  Mrs.  Staniford.  "  My  husband  is 
greatly  alarmed  about  him,  and  I  may  send  word 
to  him  —  may  I  not  ?  —  that  Horace  is  better." 

"  I  will  see  him  myself,"  returned  the  doctor, 
"  if  you  would  like  to  have  me.  I  shall  pass  his 
office." 

*'  Oh,  thank  you.  I  shall  be  so  grateful.  And 
—  doctor,  I  shall  —  pray  for  Johnny.  God  keep 
him  in  his  tender  care  !  " 

And  God  did  care  for  the  poor,  patient  suffer- 
er. He  watched  at  both  bedsides.  Horace 
Staniford's  illness  was  shorter  and  less  painful, 
physically,  than  Johnny's ;  but  Horace  was  tor- 
tured with  pangs  of  conscience  which  did  not 
trouble  his  brave  deliverer.  Over  and  over  again 
he  passed  through  the  horrors  of  those  brief  mo- 
ments, when  he  struggled  in  vain  to  get  his 
horse  across  that  treacherous  bridge,  and  felt  the 


The  Rescue.      .  249 

doom  from  which  he  strove  to  escape  rushing 
upon  him ;  but  he  never  told  his  startling  men- 
tal experience  in  words.  It  made  its  impression 
upon  him,  however,  and  when  he  rose  from  his 
bed,  it  was  with  a  firm  resolution  to  lead  a  differ- 
ent life  from  what  he  had  done  hitherto. 

"  Mother,"  said  he,  "  don't  worry  about  me 
any  more.  I  have  sown  all  my  wild  oats,  I  hope  ; 
and,  thanks  to  brave  Johnny  Bowles,  may  sow 
wheat,  now,  if  I  will.  I  believe  I  shall  find  it 
worth  while." 

And  as  for  Johnny,  though  it  was  weeks  be- 
fore he  could  leave  his  chamber,  and  he  suffered, 
often  intensely,  yet  he  bore  it  manfully,  and  never 
once  regretted  the  occasion  of  his  illness,  but 
thanked  God  in  his  heart  that  he  had  been  per- 
mitted to  be  of  so  much  use  as  to  save  a  human 
Hie. 

One  day,  when  Mrs.  Bowles  had  been  tenderly 


250       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

bathing  Ms  limbs,  he  took  her  head  in  both  his 
hands,  and  leaning  over,  kissed  her  hair,  already 
plentifully  sprinkled  with  gray.  "  I  love  you, 
mother,"  said  he.  "  You  have  been  so  good  to 
me, — you,  and  father,  and  Molly.  Don't  think 
I'll  ever,  ever  forget  it.  And  I  should  have  a 
dreadful  hard  heart  if  I  called  you  '  Mrs.  Bowles ' 
any  longer.  I  couldn't  do  it  —  after  this  ;  and 
it  won't  make  me  love  my  own  mother  that's 
gone,  any  the  less." 

"  I  hope  not,  my  dear  boy,"  she  replied,  with 
the  tears  in  her  eyes.  "  If  it  would,  I  should  not 
permit  it.  *  Mother '  sounds  sweeter  to  me  than 
you  can  guess ;  for,  years  ago,  I  buried  a  little 
lad  who  was  my  only  darling  ;  and  when  you 
speak,  I  seem  to  hear  his  voice  again." 

Johnny  was  silent  for  some  time.  Then  he 
esaid,  "  I  mean,  mother,  that  neither  you  nor  fa- 
ther shall  ever  be  sorry  that  you  adopted  me. 


The  Rescue.  251 

And  I  often  think  that  Mrs.  Scott  must  have  had 
something  to  do  with  your  taking  Molly  and  me. 
I  wish  I  could  see  her  again.  You  don't  know 
how  good  she  was  to  us  children,  and  to  my 
other  poor  mother." 

*'  Oh,  yes,  I  do.  Mrs.  Stamford  has  told  me. 
And  Mrs.  Stamford  has  been  here  nearly  every 
day  for  the  past  two  weeks  to  inquire  how  you 
were,  or  to  leave  something  for  you." 

"  And  somebody  else  has  been  here,  too,"  ad- 
ded Molly.  "  You  couldn't  guess  who  it  was." 

"  Then  you  ought  to  tell  me,"  said  Johnny. 

"  It  was  our  dear,  funny  little  Mrs.  Carter. 
And  she  brought  you  a  great  mould  of  wine  jel- 
ly, and  a  dish  of  rennet  custard." 

"  She's  a  good  woman,  Molly,  and  Mr.  Carter 
is  a  good  man.  But  I  wish  I  could  see  Mrs. 
Scott  again." 

"  She's  in  Canada,"  said  Molly.     "  Didn't  we 


252       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

tell  you  ?  Mr.  Scott,  that's  her  husband, —  came 
over  from  England,  and  sent  for  her,  and  she's 
gone  to  him.  So  Mrs.  Stamford  says.  But, 
Johnny,  there's  something  else.  May  I  tell  him, 
mother?"  she  asked. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Mrs.  Bowles. 

"  And  show  it  to  him  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

So  Molly  vanished  from  the  room  for  a  few 
minutes,  but  presently  returned,  with  a  morocco 
case  in  her  hand. 

"  Guess  I "  she  said,  holding  it  up. 

"  I  should  almost  think  it  was  a  watch,  only 
the  case  doesn't  look  thick  enough  for  that." 

"  No.  It  isn't  a  watch,"  she  replied,  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eyes.  "  But  here,  you  shall  have 
it,  Johnny.  It's  mean  in  me  to  tease  you." 

And,  opening  the  case,  she  showed  him,  lying 
upon  its  purple  velvet  bed,  the  medal  of  the 


The  Rescue.  253 

Humane  Society,  with  his  own  name  engraved 
upon  it. 

Johnny's  wan  cheeks  flushed  with  pleasure  as 
he  lifted  it  up  and  turned  it  over  to  examine  the 
device  upon  the  obverse.  He  laid  that  side 
uppermost  when  he  replaced  it. 

"  Put  it  away  in  my  drawer,  Molly,"  said  he. 
"  It's  handsome,  and  they  were  good  to  give  it 
to  me ;  but  then,  saving  Horace  Stamford  is 
worth  more  to  me  than  all  the  medals  in  the 
world ;  for  you  know,"  he  added,  "  he  never 
liked  me,  though  he  wasn't  mean  and  hateful,  as 
Mrs.  Arnold  was." 

"  Well,  he  likes  you  now,"  said  Molly,  "  and 
he'd  better,  I  think.  There's  something  else, 
Johnny,"  she  added,  presently ;  for  Molly  could 
not  long  keep  a  secret  so  tantalizing.  "  Mr. 
Stamford  sent  it." 

"  Did  he  ?     Well,  I  don't  care  what  it  is,  if 


254       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford*  8  folly. 

they've  only  got  over  hating  me, —  some  of  them. 
—  that's  all.  I  never  harmed  any  of  them,  or 
meant  to,  and  we  weren't  either  of  us  to  blame 
for  having  been  poor,  and  losing  our  father  and 
mother." 

And  Johnny  lay  back  on  the  pillows,  and 
turned  his  face  toward  the  wall.  Soon  after- 
ward he  fell  asleep,  and  Molly  was  obliged  to 
bottle  up  her  impatience  until  after  dinner. 

Just  as  the  doctor  was  going  out,  a  man 
handed  him  a  basket  of  beautiful  flowers.  In 
the  midst  of  a  lovely  group  of  lilies  lay  a  tiny 
note,  addressed  to  his  boy;  and  Johnny  being 
awake,  he  carried  the  basket  up  himself. 

The  message  read  thus  :  — 

"  For  our  brave  friend,  Johnny  Bowles.     We 
are  very  proud  of  you,  though  we  may  not  come 
and  tell  you  so ;  and  we  are  so  glad  to  hear  that 
you  are  getting  better.     Love  to  Molly. 
PBAEL  AND  WALT 


The  Rescue.  255 

•*  And  now,"  said  Molly,  "  you  must  see  what 
Mr.  Staniford  sent.  It's  what  you've  always 
been  wishing  for." 

As  she  spoke,  she  held  up  an  elegant  hunter's 
watch,  to  which  was  attached  a  chain  and  charm. 

Tears  gathered  in  Johnny's  eyes. 

"  It's  too  much,"  he  said,  hiding  his  face  in  the 
pillows.  "  They're  all  too  good." 

"  Well,  Johnny,  if  that's  the  case,"  said  the 
doctor,  cheerfully,  "  let's  rejoice  over  it.  It  isn't 
a  common  failing,  by  any  means.  Most  people, 

—  even  the  best,  such  as  you  and  I, —  are  not  half 
good  enough.     Molly  dear,  lay  the  watch  on  the 
bed.     Johnny  will  examine  it  when  he  feels  like 
it.     And  set  the  basket  where  the   sun  won't 
kiss  the  bloom  off  these  beautifully  tinted  petals. 
They  have  just  been  sprinkled,  I  think.     There, 

—  that's  it.     On  the  table,   where  our  patient 
can  have  a  look  at  them  now  and  then,  as  well 


256       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

as  take  in  their  fragrance.  You're  getting  to  be 
quite  a  nurse,  my  girl.  Mother  thinks  you  take 
famous  care  of  Johnny." 

Molly's  black  eyes  shone.  It  did  her  heart 
good  to  feel  that  she  was  useful,  and  the  doctor 
knew  it,  and  loved  her  for  it. 

As  he  turned  to  go,  he  dropped  his  cane.  She 
stooped  and  picked  it  up  for  him. 

"  Thank  you,  my  dear."  And  he  kissed  her, 
and  was  gone. 

By-and-by  Johnny  sat  up  again,  and  taking 
the  pretty  little  "  Frodsham  "  into  his  hand, 
inspected  it  narrowly,  and  with  increasing  admi- 
ration. Opening  the  case,  he  found  engraved 
upon  the  inner  side,  "  To  John  F.  Bowles.  July 
20th,  18 — .  In  token  of  the  gratitude  of  Na- 
hum  and  Horace  Staniford." 

He  closed  it  again,  and  examined  the  chain 
and  charms,  which,  though  not  showy,  were  of 


The  Rescue.  257 

the  finest  material  and  workmanship.  Wherever 
else  shoddy  might  assert  itself  as  characteristic 
of  Nahum  Staniford,  there  was  no  shoddy  about 
this  gift.  It  was  genuinely  a  valuable  one, 
intrinsically  as  well  as  ideally. 

He  handed  it  to  Molly. 

"  Put  it  with  the  medal,"  he  said. 

When  she  returned  to  the  room,  "  Has  Arthur 
Weldon  been  here  ?  "  he  asked.  "  I  thought  I 
saw  him  one  day,  but  everything's  so  mixed  up, 
1  don't  remember  much  about  it." 

•'  Yes,"  said  Molly.  "  He  came  to  inquire  for 
you  ever  so  many  times,  before  he  went  away." 

"  Went  away  ?     Has  he  gone  home  ?  " 

"  Yes.  And  Mrs.  Rentz  has  gone,  and  taken 
Madge  and  Mabel.  Arthur  lives  in  Philadelphia, 
you  remember,  and  Mrs.  Rentz  lives  in  Chicago. 
The  Weldon  boys  went  a  week  before  she  did. 
Horace  and  Carl  have  gone  to  Chicago,  too,  and 
17 


258       The  Stamfords  of  Stanifortf  s  Folly. 

Horace  intends  to  stay  there,  Mrs.  Stamford  says. 
They  wanted  Lizzie  to  go,  but  she  wouldn't 
leave  Mrs.  Stamford,  and,  besides,  she  wanted  to 
see  you.  And,  Johnny,  she's  coming  here  to- 
morrow to  spend  the  day,  if  you're  well 
enough." 

"  Then  I'll  be  well  enough,"  replied  Johnny, 
with  something  like  his  usual  brusque  manner. 
"And  we'll  have  a  gay  time  together,  —  won't 
we,  Molly  ?  But  I  shall  miss  Arthur.  I  hope 
he'll  write  to  me." 

"  He  told  me  to  tell  you  that  he  would.  He 
said  he  was  going  to  try  to  cram  for  West  Point, 
if  you  know  what  that  means." 

"  Oh,  he  wants  to  get  into  the  Military  Acade- 
my. His  father  was  an  army  officer.  I 
shouldn't  wonder  if  he'd  fetch  it.  He's  A  No  1 
in  mathematics." 

"I  like  Wallace  Seccomb    the    best,"    said 


The  Rescue.  259 

Molly.  "  Arthur's  good ;  but  Wallace  is  more 
polite,  I  think.  Don't  you  ?  '* 

"  Of  course  Wallace  is  the  best.  I  wish  his 
father  wasn't  such  a  —  such  a  villain.  I  don't 
care  if  I  do  say  it,  —  it's  just  the  word  for  him. 
Didn't  Dovale  &  Seccomb  fail  just  before  I  was 
taken  sick  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

*'  And  the  store  was  closed  up." 

**  Was  it  ?  I  didn't  know  that.  Anyway,  it's 
open  again  now,  and  the  sign  isn't  taken 
down." 

"  Well,  that's  strange.  I'll  ask  father  about 
it.  Molly,  did  you  ever  hear  anybody  say  that 
Mr.  Stamford  wasn't  a —  exactly  a  —  an  honest 
man?" 

44  No,  indeed  !  "  she  replied.  "  And  I  wouldn't 
believe  a  word  of  it,  if  they  did  say  so." 

44  Wouldn't  you  ?    Why  not  ?  " 


260       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Molly  looked  surprised. 

"  Because  Mrs.  Staniford  is  such  a  good 
woman." 

"  Oh,  pshaw  !  He  doesn't  consult  her  about 
making  his  money.  If  he  did,  he  wouldn't  be 
the  rich  man  he  is  to-day,  —  or,  at  least,  I  don't 
believe  he  would." 

Mrs.  Bowles's  entrance  put  a  stop  to  the 
conversation. 

"  Isn't  my  Molly  letting  her  patient  do  a  little 
too  much  talking  ?  "  she  asked,  good-naturedly. 
"  We  mustn't  allow  Johnny  to  get  too  tired  to- 
day, because  he  will  want  to  see  Lizzie  to- 
morrow, you  know." 

In  the  evening,  when  the  doctor  came  to  look 
in  upon  his  boy  for  a  few  minutes,  Johnny  asked 
him  about  the  failure.  It  had  quite  passed  from 
his  mind  during  his  tedious  illness. 

The  doctor  essayed  to  answer  him  briefly; 


The  Keseue.  261 

but  he  found  himself  subjected  to  such  a 
rigid  cross-questioning,  that  he  was  compelled 
to  go  into  details  a  good  deal  more  fully  than  he 
had  meant  to  do. 

"  Well,"  said  Johnny,  at  last,  after  a  moment's 
silence,  "  '  honesty  '  may  be  '  the  best  policy  '  in 
the  long  run,  but  I  don't  believe  money  and  hon- 
esty often  go  together." 

The  doctor  smiled  at  Johnny's  sage  conclusion. 

"  Isn't  that  dangerous  doctrine  ?  "  he  asked. 

"  I  don't  know,  sir.  I  suppose  if  a  person 
thinks  money  worth  more  than  character,  it  is. 
But  I  guess  it  wouldn't  be  dangerous  to  me." 

"  Ah,  Johnny !  You  can't  tell  what  attrac- 
tions wealth  may  have  for  you,  six  or  eight  years 
from  now." 

"  I  know  I  can't,"  he  replied.  •«  But  if  a 
person  keeps  resisting  and  overcoming  tempta- 
tion when  he's  young,  it  seems  to  me  it'll  come 
easy  for  him  to  do  so  when  he's  older." 


262       The  Stanifords  of  Staniford'' *  Folly. 

"Easier,  no  doubt,  my  son,  much  easier." 
And   then  Doctor   Bowles  wisely  interdicted 
further  conversation,  as  his  wife  had  done  a  few 
hours  before. 

But  the  discussion  they  had  held,  and  the 
information  he  had  elicited,  gave  Johnny 
something  to  think  about  when  Lizzie  had  made 
her  visit ;  and  he  solved  some  knotty  problems 
growing  out  of  Dovale  &  Seccomb's  failure, 
and  came  to  some  very  wise  and  righteous 
conclusions  with  respect  to  the  workings  of  certain 
mercantile  transactions ;  —  solutions  and  decisions 
which  stood  him  in  good  stead  in  after  years, 
helping  him  in  more  than  one  crisis  of  his  young 
manhood.  The  4  boy  '  is  indeed,  '  father  of  the 
man  ; '  and  Johnny's  theory  that  beginning  to 
think  and  act  right  in  youth,  helps  one  to  think 
and  act  right  when  he  is  older,  was  as  true  as 
truth  itself. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

.  THE   "BOOT  OP    ALL  EVIL." 

OVALE  &  SECCOMB'S  store  was  in  a 
substantial  brick  building  upon  Washing- 
ton Street,  and  was  owned  by  the  latter 
gentleman.  The  thoroughfare  next  east  of 
Washington  Street,  and  running  parallel  with  it, 
was  Madison  Avenue,  and  between  the  houses 
on  the  west  side  of  Madison  Avenue,  and  the 
stores  on  the  East  side  of  Washington  Street, 
was  a  lane  known  as  Travers  Alley.  On  this 
alley  were  situated  a  blacksmith's,  harness- 

(263) 


264       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

maker's,  and  plumber's  shop,  a  marble  yard  and 
slate  yard,  two  stables,  and  a  block  of  a  dozen 
tenement  bouses,  usually  known  as  Dublin  Row. 

One  cold  and  very  windy  evening  in  Novem- 
ber a  man  called  at  Doctor  Bowles's  house,  and 
not  being  able  to  read  the  writing  upon  his  slate, 
rang  the  bell. 

Katy  was  out ;  so  Johnny  answered  the 
summons, 

"  I  want  to  see  Doctor  Bowles,"  said  the  man. 

*'  He  is  not  in  town,"  replied  Johnny,  "  and 
won't  be  back  probably  before  ten  or  eleven 
o'clock." 

The  man  hesitated,  and  turned  to-  go  away, 
but  altered  his  mind,  and  said,  "  Tell  him  when 
he  comes  home,  that  there's  a  sick  girl  down 
in  number  four,  Dublin  Row,  and  that  he's 
wanted  to  come  there  to-night." 

"  Well,"  returned  Johnny,  "  I'll  tell  him." 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  265 

The  clock  struck  twelve  just  as  the  doctor 
crossed  the  upper  bridge. 

He  was  chilly  and  tired,  and  glad  that  he  was 
BO  near  home  ;  and  as  he  turned  into  Travers 
Alley,  toward  the  stable  where  his  horse  was 
kept,  he  mentally  hoped  that  he  should  not  have 
occasion  to  go  out  again  before  morning. 

The  door  was  barred  inside,  and  he  was 
obliged  to  shout  before  he  could  bring  anybody 
to  his  aid.  But  after  awhile  the  stable-boy 
appeared,  half  asleep,  and  the  doctor  drove  in 
and  left  his  horse,  the  door  coming  together 
after  him  with  a  bang,  which  said  plainly, 
*'  You've  no  business  to  rout  people  out  of  bed  at 
this  time  of  night !  " 

He  walked  on  rapidly,  smiling  to  himself  at 
the  boy's  irritability,  his  feet  making  no  sound 
on  the  thick  bed  of  tan  which  had  been  laid  over 
the  mud  as  an  accommodation  to  pedestrians. 
There  were  no  sidewalks  in  Travers  Alley. 


266       The  Stamfords  of  Stanford? 8  Folly. 

He  was  now  nearly  opposite  the  back  part  of 
Dovale  &  Seccomb's  store.  The  alley,  it  is 
true,  ran  by  the  yards  of  the  Madison  Avenue 
houses,  and  not  those  of  the  Washington  street 
stores  ;  but  there  was  an  arch-way  just  here, 
under  the  tenement  houses,  which  would  take 
one  through,  to  the  narrow  eight-foot  passage 
behind  them,  used  only  by  the  dust-carts  and 
scrap-gatherers. 

As  Doctor  Bowles  neared  this  arch-way,  he 
stopped  and  lis'tened ;  for  he  thought  he  detected 
a  grating  sound  like  the  turning  of  a  key  in  a 
lock.  It  suddenly  occurred  to  him  that  burglars 
had  recently  been  at  work  in  the  neighborhood 
of  his  own  house  on  Myrtle  Street,  and  perhaps 
they  were  attempting  to  force  an  entrance  into 
some  of  the  stores.  He  slipped  quietly  through 
the  arch-way,  and,  standing  in  its  blackest 
shadow,  watched. 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  267 

The  wind  was  still  blowing  shrill  and  biting, 
bringing  with  it  a  hint  of  snow.  But  it  was 
starlight,  though  clouds  were  beginning  to  gather 
in  the  east ;  and,  peering  through  the  darkness, 
he  saw  —  he  was  certain  he  saw  —  the  figure  of  a 
man  at  the  back  entrance  of  Dovale  &  Sec- 
comb's  store, —  a  man,  too,  who  acted  suspi- 
ciously ;  for  he  stopped  on  the  walk  to  listen, 
went  on  a  little,  and  then  seemed  to  be  looking 
about  him,  fearful  lest  he  should  be  discovered. 

Now  Doctor  Bowles  knew  that  the  store  was 
closed  promptly  at  nine  in  the  evening,  Mr. 
Seccomb  seldom  returning  to  business  after 
dinner.  This  man's  conduct,  therefore,  at  half- 
past  twelve  at  night,  looked,  to  say  the  least, 
somewhat  singular ;  and  since  the  doctor  was 
armed,  he  determined  to  follow  the  marauder 
till  he  should  light  upon  a  policeman. 

But  it  was  a  very  curious  chase  the  fellow  led 


268       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

him,  and  the  doctor  found  it  was  not  so  easy  to 
play  the  detective  as  he  had  imagined ;  for  he 
was  taken  through  by-streets  and  lanes  —  never 
under  the  lamps  —  through  the  lowest  and  dir- 
tiest places  in  Englewood,  and  there  were  plenty 
of  them.  But  for  the  wind,  and  their  keeping 
continually  in  the  shadow,  he  must  have  been 
discovered.  Indeed,  he  came  near  it  more  than 
once. 

At  length  they  emerged  into  a  broader  street, 
and  here  the  burglar  stopped  to  look  above  and 
below,  and  make  sure  that  he  should  meet 
nobody.  Then  he  crossed  to  the  opposite  side, 
directty  under  the  glare  of  a  lamp. 

Doctor  Bowles  had  stepped  behind  a  tree,  and 
was  watching  him ;  but  as  the  fellow  turned  a 
minute  to  take  a  last  observation,  the  doctor  saw 
his  features  lighted  up,  and  recognized  him 
instantly.  He  saw  more.  He  saw  him  open  the 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  269 

iron  gate  to  Mr.  Seccomb's  yard,  and  glide 
stealthily  in,  closing  it  behind  him  without  the 
slightest  jar.  And  then  he  saw  the  man  take  a 
key  from  his  pocket,  and  let  himself  in  at  the 
basement  of  the  house. 

It  was  Mr.  Scccomb  himself  I 

You  think,  perhaps,  that  Doctor  Bowles  made 
a  very  funny  mistake,  but  I  assure  you  he  was 
more  troubled  about  what  he  had  witnessed  than 
you  can  guess. 

He  took  the  shortest  route  to  Myrtle  Street, 
and  though  he  met  two  policemen,  said  nothing 
to  them  about  his  adventure. 

When  he  reached  home,  he  found  written  in  a 
large  hand  upon  his  office  slate, — 

"You  are  wanted  to  go  down  to  number  four, 
Dublin  Row,  Travers  Alley,  as  soon  as  you  get 
home,  whenever  that  may  be. 

JOHNNY." 


270       The  Stamfords  of  StanifortiT s  Folly. 

**  Well,  I  shan't  go  to-night,"  he  said  to  him- 
self, and  set  down  to  take  off  his  boots.  But  all 
at  once,  he  got  up  again,  put  on  his  hat  and  coat, 
took  his  cane,  and  went  out. 

It  was  a  little  vexing,  to  be  sure  ;  for,  had  he 
known  that  he  was  wanted  at  number  four,  Dub- 
lin Row,  at  the  time  he  left  his  horse  at  the  sta- 
ble, he  might  have  been  saved  a  good  deal  of 
journeying ;  and  then,  too,  a  certain  dread  was  on 
him,  which  he  could  not  explain,  and  which 
made  him  very  uncomfortable. 

Still,  when  he  got  into  Eustis  street,  he  took 
the  cart-way  behind  Dublin  Row,  instead  of  the 
alley,  and  went  up  under  the  arch,  looking  back 
at  the  store. 

Nothing  to  be  seen, —  nothing  whatever,  and 
he  blundered  through  the  lower  entry  of  number 
four,  up  over  the  worn  stairs,  to  the  first  land- 
ing. He  had  seen  a  light  under  the  door,  and 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  271 

taking  it  for  granted  that  this  was  the  plaee, 
knocked.  And  at  that  minute  he  heard  the 
clock  strike  one. 

He  was  not  mistaken ;  but  when  he  entered  the 
close  and  ill-ventilated  apartment,  he  saw  at  a 
glance  that  he  had  come  too  late.  Nevertheless, 
he  sat  down  in  the  chair  that  was  offered  him, 
explaining  his  delay,  and  answering  the  inquiries 
with  regard  to  the  state  of  the  sick  girl,  who,  it 
seemed,  had  been  in  convulsions  nearly  all  day, 
and,  a.s  the  doctor  now  learned,  had  been  given 
up  by  two  other  physicians  at  the  time  he  was 
himself  sent  for. 

"  She's  going  to  have  another,"  said  one  of  the 
women,  who,  after  the  manner  of  her  people,  had 
been  crying,  and  wailing,  and  wringing  her  hands, 
and  again  she  commenced  her  lamentations. 

"  Hush  !  "  said  the  doctor,  authoritatively,  ris- 
ing and  going  toward  the  bed.  "  Where  is  the 
girl's  mother  ?  " 


272       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford?  8  Folly. 

"  She's  dead,"  replied  the  father.  "  God  rest 
her  soul  I "  —  crossing  himself. 

"  Go  to  your  child,  yourself,  then,"  said  he. 
"  She  wants  to  speak  to  you.  She  is  coming  to 
her  senses,  and  has  not  long  to  live." 

The  man  leant  over  her,  and  caught  her  last 
•words.  "  Tell  them  not  to  make  such  a  noise 
over  me  when  I'm  dead  ; "  and  presently  she 
struggled,  gasped,  and  all  was  over. 

The  doctor  did  not  stay  longer.  There  was 
no  need.  He  said  "  Good-night,"  and  closed 
the  door  carefully  behind  him. 

As  he  stepped  into  the  entry,  he  caught  the 
glimpse  of  a  light  outside,  —  red  and  unsteady. 
It  guided  him  to  the  back  window,  and  he 
looked  out. 

He  turned  quickly,  dashed  down  the  stairs,  at 
the  risk  of  breaking  his  neck,  out  into  the  alley, 
and  down  Eustis  to  Washington  Street,  where 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  273 

he  stood,  and  with  all  the  voice  he  could  sum- 
mon, shouted  "  Fire !  fire  1  fire  I  "  then  ran  on  a 
few  blocks,  and  shouted  again. 

The  streets  were  very  quiet,  and  the  seconds 
seemed  hours  before  he  heard  feet  hurrying  to- 
ward hun  over  the  pavements,  and  the  long, 
clicking  whirr  of  the  watchman's  rattle,  and  then 
clang !  went  the  bells,  and  other  voices  echoed 
his  cry  of  "  Fire !  fire  !  " 

At  last  the  engines  were  got  out,  and  the 
flying  shouts  became  a  clamor,  mingled  with 
impatient  orders,  and  curses,  the  stamping  of 
horses'  feet,  and  the  thunder  of  wheels  over  the 
flag-stones. 

The  whole  neighborhood  was  now  thoroughly 
awake  ;  and  the  doctor,  who  was  worn  out  with 
fatigue,  bent  his  steps  homeward,  pondering 
upon  what  he  had  witnessed. 

The  bells  rang  for  a  long,  long  time,  and  the 
18 


274       The  Stamfords  of  Staniforff  s  Folly. 

whole  sky  was  lighted  up  for  miles  around,  while 
the  wind  blew  fiercely,  and  the  cinders  were 
wafted  in  every  direction,  here  and  there  light- 
ing other  fires,  which  were,  however,  quickly 
extinguished. 

It  was  a  fearful  morning,  and  one  long  to  be 
remembered  in  Englewood,  for  the  fire  destroyed 
nearly  four  hundred  thousand  dollars'  worth  of 
property,  and  left  scores  of  families  homeless. 
The  whole  of  Travers  Alley  was  burnt  out,  and 
the  horses  at  the  boarding-stables  saved  with 
great  difficulty.  The  occupants  of  Dublin  Row 
lost  nearly  all  they  had,  and  the  dead  body  of 
the  poor  girl  whom  the  doctor  had  been  called  to 
see  was  consumed  in  the  flames.  Madison 
Avenue  was  a  ruin,  as  far  as  Hancock  Street, 
and  down  Eustis  Street  on  both  sides,  walls 
only  were  standing.  On  the  east  side  of  Wash- 
ington Street,  as  far  as  Hancock,  it  was  nearly 


The  "Moot  of  all  Evil."  275 

as  bad,  though  here  the  fire  had  been  stayed  by 
the  blowing  up  of  one  or  two  frame  buildings. 
Ruin  —  ruin  everywhere,  and  a  dense  pall  of 
smoke  over  all. 

That  evening  the  doctor  read  the  account  of 
the  conflagration,  with  a  statement  of  the  losses 
sustained,  in  the  city  paper.  He  glanced  across 
the  column  of  incidents,  barely  noticing  the  other 
items,  until  he  came  to  this :  "  Dovale  &  Seccomb, 
Loss  $75.000.  Insured  for  $50.000,  at  the 
following  offices  ;  American,  $10.000 ;  Vulcan, 
$10.000;  Transatlantic,  $20.000;  Englewood 
Mutual,  $7.500  ;  Holland  Mutual,  $2.500." 

"  So  that  was  the  game  1 "  he  commented 
aloud.  "  I  suspected  it." 

"What's  that?"  asked  Johnny.  "What 
game  ?  " 

"  Ah  !  Johnny !  "  replied  the  doctor,  "  it  is  a 
game  you  don't  understand,  and  I  trust  never 


276       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

will.  The  name  of  it  is  Fraud.  Now  ask  me 
no  more  questions,  for  I've  said  my  say." 

But  before  retiring  that  night,  he  sat  down  at 
his  office  table,  and  wrote  the  following  letter :  — 

44  MR.  SECCOMB  :  — 

Sir,  —  I  see  by  the  paper, 

this  evening,  that  your  losses  by  the  late  fire  are 
estimated  at  $75.000,  and  that  you  are  insured 
for  $50.000,  which  you  are  no  doubt  intending 
to  collect.  Allow  me  to  advise  you  not  to  attempt 
it. 

Do  you  ask,  why  not  ? 

You  may  and  may  not  be  aware  that  I  have 
for  months  past  boarded  my  horse  at  Dailey's 
stable,  in  Travers  Alley. 

I  had  occasion  yesterday  to  attend  a  critical 
case  in  Shalersville,  and  did  not  return  until 
midnight,  when  I  put  up  my  horse,  and  walked 
home,  but  not  until  I  had  seen,  what  if  it  were 
recited  as  testimony  before  a  jury,  taken  in 


The  "Moot  of  all  Evil."  277 

connection  with  the  breaking  out  of  the  fire  at 
one  o'clock,  would  give  you  a  term  of  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  in  the  State  Prison. 

That  your  crime  deserves  public  mention,  and 
yourself  the  punishment  which  other  criminals 
have  been  made  to  suffer,  there  can  be  no  doubt ; 
but,  for  the  sake  of  your  innocent  family,  I  with- 
hold for  the  present  my  knowledge  of  your  prob- 
able part  in  the  affair,  on  the  conditions  named 
above  ;  and  advise  you  further,  as  a  friend,  to  re- 
move to  some  other  locality. 

If  you  present  your  application  to  either  of  the 
offices  which  have  insured  you,  for  the  amount 
of  your  policy,  I  will  assuredly  lay  before  the 
Board  of  Directors  of  such  Company  the  facts 
which  have  come  to  my  knowledge,  and  you 
must  take  the  consequences. 

I  am,  sir, —  yours,  &c. 

CURTIS  BOWLES." 

Mr.  Dovale  had  been  dead  for  more  than  six 


278       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford1  s  Folly. 

mouths ;  but  his  widow  desiring  that  his  capital 
should  continue  in  the  business,  the  firm  name 
was  still  retained,  though  Mr.  Seccomb,  of 
course,  had  now  the  sole  management  of  affairs. 

His  office-boy  brought  to  his  house  Doctor 
Bowles's  letter  at  noon  of  the  next  day.  He 
tore  off  the  envelope,  glanced  at  the  signature, 
and  was  about  to  consign  it  to  the  waste-paper 
basket,  when  the  words  "  fifteen  or  twenty  years 
in  the  State  Prison  "  caught  his  eye.  Where- 
upon, he  read  the  letter,  and  when  he  had 
finished  it,  sat  erect  in  his  chair,  as  pale  as  a 
ghost. 

Then  he  got  up,  and  walked  the  floor 
excitedly,  stopped  a  moment  at  the  window,  and 
looked  out ;  came  back  again  to  the  desk,  and 
re-read  the  missive  which  had  so  startled  him  ; 
paced  slowly,  with  firm  set  lips,  and  hands 
folded  behind  him  ;  began  walking  again  rapidly, 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil"  279 

muttering  to  himself  and  shaking  his  head ;  an  d 
finally  sat  down  once  more,  and  opening  a 
drawer,  took  out  a  small  silver-mounted  pistol, 
and  examined  it. 

He  returned  it  to  its  box  after  loading  it, 
closed  the  drawer,  and  seizing  a  pen,  dipped  it 
into  the  ink,  and  hastily  dashed  off  the 
following  :  — 

"Dn.  BOWLES: — 

Yours  received.     I  defy  you  I 

GEO.  W.  SECCOMB." 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  coat,  stepped  to  the 
street  corner,  and  mailed  it  himself.  Then 
coming  back  to  the  house,  locked  himself  into 
the  library. 

He  never  passed  the  door  again  alive. 

About  an  hour  elapsed,  and  the  family  were 
shocked  by  the  report  of  a  pistol  in  the  direction 


280       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

of  the  sitting-room.  Wallace  and  Pearl  were 
playing  croquet  in  the  garden, —  "  the  last  game 
of  the  season,"  as  Wallace  had  said ;  and  Mrs. 
Seccomb  and  her  eldest  daughter  were  up  stairs. 

They  tried  the  door.  Then  Wallace  got  in  at 
a  window,  and  unfastened  it. 

Of  course  you  know  what  they  found. 

There  was  a  scrap  of  paper  upon  the  table, 
with  a  line  written  upon  it ;  and  the  cinders  of 
burnt  paper  upon  the  floor.  The  cinders  were 
the  remains  of  Doctor  Bowles's  letter  ;  this  was 
the  line :  —  "I  cannot  survive  my  losses." 

False  to  the  last !  Was  not  this  man  a  villain, 
as  much  as  the  veriest  highwayman  ?  and  a 
coward  as  well. 

The  news  of  the  suicide  spread  rapidly,  and 
people  commiserated  the  fate  of  the  "  upright 
merchant "  whose  misfortunes  had  caused  him 
to  make  way  with  himself  in  a  moment  of 


The  "Root  of  all  Evil."  281 

aberration.  He  had  calculated  upon  it ;  he 
knew  nobody  would  speak  ill  of  him  when  lie 
was  dead.  He  had  calculated  also  upon  some 
thing  else,  —  Doctor  Bowles's  silence,  and  the 
payment  of  the  insurance  money  to  his  family. 
He  was  righ  t  there,  too.  Doctor  Bowles  had  not 
the  heart  to  set  himself  to  blackening  this 
wretch's  memory,  and  beggaring  his  children. 
He  never  told  what  he  knew  until  years  after- 
ward, when  he  told  it  to  Johnny,  to  point 
effectually  this  moral :  —  "  The  love  of  money  is 
the  root  of  all  evil." 

After  the  funeral,  Johnny  and  Molly  called  ou 
Pearl,  to  tender  her  their  sympathy.  She  was 
very  much  affected  by  their  visit,  and  by  Molly's 
mute  caress  and  tearful  kiss.  Each  had  suffered 
loss,  and  knew  how  to  feel  for  the  other. 

By-and-by  the  old  pleasant  relations,  so  un- 
happily interrupted,  were  resumed ;  and  Pear) 


282       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

and  Molly  went  away  together  to  a  finishing 
school,  while  Wallace,  and  Johnny,  and  Carl 
Stamford  studied  Latin  and  Greek  every  day  at 
Doctor  Bowles's,  under  a  tutor. 

The  next  summer  the  girls  came  home,  and 
Molly  had  grown  so  tall  and  womanly,  that  Mrs. 
Bowles  could  hardly  believe  it  was  her  own  dear 
girl,  and  Johnny  was  half  afraid  to  kiss  his 
sister,  lest  it  should  happen,  after  all,  to  be 
somebody  else.  Pearl  had  altered  very  little, 
she  was  her  own  sweet,  unassuming  self,  still 
touched  with  just  a  shade  of  sadness,  for  she  had 
loved  her  father  dearly,  —  loved  him  for  what 
she  had  believed  him  to  be,  rather  than  for  what 
he  was,  and  she  felt  his  loss  deeply. 

They  returned  to  school  again  in  the  fall,  and 
the  next  summer  graduated,  —  young  ladies. 


CHAPTER   XIII. 

HOME  AGAIK. 

JVE  years  have  passed.  A  long,  long 
time,  —  is  it  not,  children  ?  And  here 
are  Wallace  and  Johnny  seniors  in  col- 
lege. Carl  left  a  year  ago,  and  is  now  a  banker's 
clerk.  He  never  cared  much  for  study,  though 
he  is  a  fine  fellow  in  many  respects,  for  all  that. 
Arthur  Weldon  is  at  West  Point,  and  Ernest 
and  Louie  at  a  private  military  academy.  John- 
ny thinks  he  shall  go  through  the  Law  School 
after  leaving  the  University;  and  Wallace  pro 

(283) 


284       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford' '«  Folly. 

poses   to  study  medicine   with   Doctor  Bowles, 
and  attend  lectures  during  the  winter. 

Meantime,  let  us  introduce  ourselves  at  Stam- 
ford's Folly. 

As  usual,  the  house  is  thronged  with  company, 
for  it  is  the  month  of  June,  and  summer  here  is 
always  delightful,  with  the  large,  airy,  high- 
studded  rooms,  furnished  for  the  warm  weather 
in  mattings,  bamboo,  and  chintzes ;  the  long, 
cool,  vine-hung  verandas,  and  covered  balconies ; 
the  Venetian  awnings,  and  ample  lawn  tents 
with  their  light  hammocks  and  folding-chairs  ; 
the  shady  summer-houses  and  groves ;  and  Solis's 
Pond  only  four  miles  away,  —  just  a  pleasant 
drive.  And  then,  too,  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Staniford 
are  so  hospitable  !  and  when  Mrs.  Rentz  is  here, 
—  as  she  is  now,  she  has  such  a  knack  of  making 
people  feel  at  home  I 

Mrs.   Arnold   is  married  again,  and  lives  ID 


Home  Again.  285 

Philadelphia,  not  far  from  the  Weldons.  That 
is  her  husband  standing  on  the  portico,  talking 
with  her  father,  —  a  man,  by  the  way,  nearly  as 
old  as  Mr.  Staniford,  and  with  whom  that  gentle- 
man never  agrees.  Yonder,  strolling  up  the 
avenue,  toward  the  greenhouses,  is  Horace's 
new  wife,  with  Madge  and  Mabel  Rentz  on 
either  side  of  her.  Madge  is  nearly  as  tall  as 
her  aunt  Agnes;  and  what  a  buxom  little 
cherry-cheeked  lass  is  Mabel,  her  curls  still 
tossing  about  her  temples,  though  a  shade  darker 
than  they  used  to  be !  Just  in  front  of  them 
walk  Edith  and  her  step-brother,  Oscar  Prewitt. 
On  the  veranda  is  another  group.  Mrs. 
Prewitt,  embroidering  a  design  in  lace,  with 
Mrs.  Rentz  leaning  over  her  shoulder,  and  in- 
specting her  work  admiringly ;  Horace  playing 
bo-peep  with  baby  Rentz  ;  Mrs.  Stamford  sitting 
in  a  cane  rocker,  knitting  a  ball  in  bright-colored 


286       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

worsteds  ;  and  Lizzie  trying  to  teach,  little  three- 
year-old  Minnie  Prewitt  the  mysteries  of  "  cat'a 
cradle." 

At  the  end  of  the  veranda,  under  the  grape- 
vine, are  some  young  people,  apparently  very 
merry  over  a  letter  one  of  them  has  been  reading. 
One  of  these  is  Miss  Weldon,  Arthur's  only 
sister,  and  the  other  two  are  Laura  and  Sallie 
Van  Alsten,  Mr.  Rente's  cousins.  Ah!  here 
comes  Mr.  Rentz  himself,  —  or  Fred,  as  every- 
body calls  him.  He  is  arm  in  arm  with  Carl, 
and  they  are  just  from  the  banking-house  of 
Hall,  Travers  &  Co.  Carl  lifts  his  hat  gracefully 
to  the  little  company,  and  Fred,  letting  go  his 
companion,  holds  out  his  hands  for  his  baby, 
after  throwing  a  kiss  to  his  wife ;  and  then 
nurse  catches  up  her  darling,  and  they  run  to 
meet  papa. 

Ah !    here   come     the  girls,   too, —  hurrying 


Home  Again.  287 

down  the  veranda,  glad  to  see  Carl,  but  as  glad 
to  see  Fred,  who  is,  I  assure  you,  a  great  favorite 
with  everybody.  He  kisses  them  all  round,  and 
then  asks  for  Lizzie  and  Minnie. 

"  Yes  ;  where's  Lizzie,  girls  ?  "  echoes  Carl. 

"Oh,  the  two  are  inseparable,  you  know," 
returned  Laura ;  and  Margie  "VVeldon  adds, 
"Lizzie  makes  herself  a  perfect  slave  to  that 
little  beauty  of  Anna's." 

"  A  loving  and  a  willing  one,  though,  I'm  sure," 
insists  Sallie.  "  Nobody  can  doubt  that  who  sees 
them  together." 

"  Yes,  Lizzie  loves  the  babies, —  doesn't  she, 
Pet  ?  "  says  Fred,  tossing  up  his  treasure,  and 
catching  her  in  his  arms.  "  Let's  go  and  find 
Lizzie." 

Baby  nods  her  head  briskly  in  the  affirmative, 
and  lisps  out,  "  Hot,  too." 

"  Hot  ?  Well,  'tis  a  hot  day,  baby.  There's 
no  mistake  about  that." 


288       The  Stanifords  of  Staniford '«  Folly. 

"  She  means  *  Horace,'  "  suggested  Sallie, 
laughing. 

" «  ffoss ',  eh  ?  With  a  t  for  an  *.  That's  it, 
is  it  ?  Respectful,  Sallie,  —  for  a  two-year-old. 
What  do  you  think  of  that,  Horace  ?  " 

"Tell  me  what  'that'  is,  Fred,  and  I'll 
answer,"  returned  the  young  man  addressed. 

"  Why,  baby  here  has  begun  to  call  her  uncle 
a  '  hoss.'  How  do  you  feel  about  it  ?  " 

"  Oh,  not  very  bad.  One  can  forgive  *  gum- 
Arabic.'  She'll  learn  English  fast  enough,  when 
she  gets  fairly  started." 

"  Come,  Lizzie,"  says  Fred.  "  The  rest  of  the 
girls  have  kissed  me.  Where  are  you  ?  My 
whiskers  won't  scorch  you,  if  they  are  red. 
What  are  you  afraid  of?  I  feel  slighted.  Well, 
baby,  if  she  won't  kiss  me,  I'll  kiss  her,  and  you 
shall  carry  it  for  papa." 

So  baby  takes  the  kiss  on  her  own  fat  cheeks, 


Home  Again.  289 

and  tumbles  over  Minnie  in  her  zeal  to  bestow  it 
on  the  children's  playmate,  but  is  up  again  in  a 
moment,  with  outstretched  arms,  running  toward 
Lizzie. 

Lizzie's  face  crimsons,  for  she  is  still  shy  at 
times,  and  does  not  like  to  be  made  in  the  least 
conspicuous. 

"  How  handsome  she  is  !  "  whispers  Laura. 

"  How  sweet  she  is !  "  whispers    Sallie. 

"  You  must  think  the  world  of  her,  Carl,"  adds 
Margie. 

"  Yes, —  we  all  ought  to,"  he  replies,  "  for 
she's  done  more  to  unite  the  family  than  any  one 
of  the  rest  of  us.  She's  fairly  made  herself  nec- 
essary to  Anna,  and  that's  saying  a  great  deal." 

**  So  it  is,"  echoes  Marg'e.  "  I  know  all 
about  it," — meaningly.  Margie  never  liked 
Mrs.  Prewitt. 

Baby  gave  Lizzie  the  kiss,  and  Lizzie  returned 
19 


290       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

it,  looking  up  roguishly  as  she  did  so,  at  baby's 
papa. 

"  How  much  she  resembles  Johnny  Bowles," 
observed  Laura. 

"More  and  more,  every  year,"  said  Margie 
•*  Did  you  ever  see  Molly  ?  " 

"  Molly?" 

"  Molly  Bowles." 

"  No.    Not  that  I  remember." 

"  She  and  Johnny  are  not  at  all  alike.  She  is 
very  dark,  —  has  a  perfect  Spanish  complexion, 
with  a  flush  of  red  in  her  cheeks,  eyes  black  as 
sloes — only  there's  fire  in  them,  let  me  tell  you — 
and  hair  like  a  raven's  wing.  I  call  her '  shadow,' 
and  Pearl  *  light.'  They're  always  together." 

"Pearl  is  a  blonde,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,  and  rather  pretty ;  though  not  so  pret- 
ty as  she  used  to  be." 

«'  There  you're  mistaken,  I  think,  Margie," 
said  CarL 


Home  Again.  291 

"  Oh,  well,  we  won't  quarrel.  You  and  I  have 
never  agreed  about  Pearl,  you  know." 

"  No,  and  never  shall."  And  he  took  the 
camp-chair  Mrs.  Prewitt  had  just  abandoned, 
and  seated  himself  near  Lizz'e,  while  Fred  enter- 
tained the  girls  with  his  afternoon's  adventures 
in  the  city. 

•*  I'm  always  glad  to  get  home,  Lizzie,"  said 
Carl. 

"  We're  always  glad  to  have  you,"  she  replied. 
"  Mother  would  feel  so  badly  if  you  were  like 
some  other  young  men, — Mat  Holland,  for  in- 
stance, —  who  think  a  great  deal  more  of  their 
club  than  they  do  of  the  family." 

"  Oh,  well,  that  depends  on  tho  way  they're 
brought  up,"  he  said.  "  If  home  isn't  a  pleasant 
place,  and  those  who  are  there  don't  try  to  make 
it  so,  you  can't  blame  a  young  fellow  for  going 
off  somewhere  else  to-  enjoy  himself.  The  Hoi- 


292       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

lands  are  always  bickering  and  quarreling 
amongst  themselves.  Mrs.  Holland  and  the  girls 
think  of  nothing  but  dress  and  show;  Mat  and 
Warren  may  go  to  the  deuce  for  all  them,  —  and 
I  think  there  isn't  much  doubt  that,  they  will. 
But  mother,  —  she  isn't  of  their  ilk,  and  never 
was,  and  you're  not  a  bit  like  Maud  Holland.  A 
young  man  knows  whether  or  not  they  have  an 
affection  for  him  at  home,  Lizzie  ;  and  it's  pretty 
hard  work  loving  people  who  don't  care  a  button 
for  anybody  but  themselves.  And  then,  too,  one 
doesn't  like  to  be  checked,  and  harried,  and  found 
fault  with,  and  preached  to  or  at,  all  the  time, 
even  when  he  knows  it's  done  for  conscience' 
sake,  and  because  his  father  or  mother,  or  both,  are 
really  anxious  about  him.  He  doesn't  always 
feel  like  going  to  bed  at  eight  o'clock,  or  spend- 
ing his  evenings  reading  heavy  works  on  relig- 
ious or  philosophical,  mental  or  physical  science, 


Home  Again.  293 

and  sometimes  he  gets  through  with  the  newspa- 
per before  he  leaves  the  office, or  steps  off  the  car 
platform.  What  shall  he  do  to  while  away  the 
time  after  dinner  or  supper, —  whichever  it  may 
be  ?  Suck  his  thumbs  and  meditate  ?  It  may 
do,  once  in  a  way,  but  hardly  six  nights  out  of 
seven.  I  believe  in  improving  one's  self,  but  we're 
not  all  book-worms ;  and  after  a  day's  hard 
work  in  the  shop  or  the  counting-room,  we  want, 
generally,  some  sort  of  recreation.  If  a  man  has 
a  family,  he  feels  differently,  I  suppose  i  but 
young  fellows,  like  Al  Travers  and  me,  do  like  a 
good  time, —  some  sort  of  entertainment.  Al's 
mother  is  an  excellent  woman, — everybody 
knows  that ;  but  you  can't  name  any  kind  of 
amusement  Al  is  partial  to,  or  thinks  he  is,  that 
she  doesn't  consider  sinful  and  corrupting, —  un- 
less it  is  chess :  and  that's  more  of  a  study  than 
a  recreation,  really.  Well,  Al  likes  chess,  but 


294       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

there's  nobody  at  home  plays  it ;  and  if  there 
were,  he  wouldn't  want  it  every  evening  in  the 
week.  He  craves  variety  just  as  other  people  do, 
• — young  people  particularly.  It's  natural, — 
born  in  them, —  they  can't  help  it,  and  I  don't 
believe  it  was  ever  meant  that  they  should.  Well, 
—  what's  the  result  of  this  over-strictness — big- 
otry, I  call  it,  in  Al  Travers'  case  ?  Why,  he  goes 
where  he  can  have  things  to  his  liking,  and  gets 
into  places  and  company  that  would  break  his 
mother's  heart,  if  she  knew  it,  —  or  else  teach 
her  wisdom.  You  remember  the  last  time  Al 
was  at  our  house,  Lizzie  ?  Well,  the  next  morn- 
ing we  got  to  talking  about  something  that  led 
up  by  a  sort  of  side  track  to  this  very  subject. 

*  Carl,'  said  he,  '  what  a  pity  it  is  that  all  Christ- 
ians are  not  of  your   mother's  stripe.     Is  it  al- 
ways as  jolly  at  your  house  as  it  was  last  night  ?  ' 

*  Jolly  ? '  said  I.     *  Was  it  jolly  ? '  —  *  Why,  yes, 


Home  Again.  295 

I  thought  so,'  he  answered.  "Well,  I  tried  to 
think  it  over — if  we  did  anything  out  of  the 
common  course  —  what  was  going  on,  and  so 
forth,  and  all  I  could  recall  was  that  mother,  and 
you,  and  Al  had  a  chat  together,  and  when  fa- 
ther came  in,  he  made  Madge  sing,  and  then  he 
and  Alice  fell  to  joking,  as  they  always  do  when 
Alice  is  here,  and  the  rest  of  us  did  about  as  we 
pleased,  and  didn't  make  company  of  our  visitor 
at  all.  I  know  I  skipped  across  the  floor  two  or 
three  times  with  Madge,  and  ran  against  father's 
obesity,  which  set  us  all  to  laughing,  and  after- 
ward played  several  games  with  Mabel ;  and 
somewhere  about  ten  o'clock  we  had  hot  coffee, 
and  cake,  and  a  little  fruit,  and  after  that  I  took 
a  hand  at  a  game  along  with  Alice,  and  Madge, 
and  Al,  and  we  broke  up  just  before  midnight.  I 
told  Al  that  we  spent  the  evening  a  good  deal  aa 
usual,  only  we  didn't  always  sit  up  so  late  when 


29G       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

we  were  by  ourselves  ;  but  that  mother  invaria- 
bly tried  to  have  things  cheerful,  and  generallj 
succeeded.  Sometimes  I  read  aloud;  sometimes 
you  did  ;  now  and  then  we  had  chess ;  often,  fa- 
ther and  I  would  get  into  a  discussion ;  then 
there  were  family  letters  from  Anna,  or  Fred,  or 
Horace,  or  some  of  our  hundred-and-one  relatives 
or  friends  at  the  West,  or  South,  or  in  California, 
that  we  all  had  to  have  a  peep  into  and  talk 
about,  and  so,  somehow,  the  time  crept  away, 
and  our  evenings  were  the  pleasantest  part  of  the 
day  to  us.  4  Well,'  said  Al,  *  I'll  tell  you  how  it 
is  at  our  house.  Since  Laura  died,  the  piano  has 
been  always  shut.  There's  never  any  music  ex- 
cept Sundays,  when  cousin  Julia  dines  with  us, 
and  they  open  the  cabinet  organ  and  play  psalm 
tunes  until  service  time.  After  tea,  every  even- 
ing, we  have  family  devotions.  I  don't  object  to 
that,  —  it's  a  good  thing,  I  think,  though  not  al- 


Home  Again.  297 

ways  pleasant  to  visitors,  who  don't  often  annoy 
us,  by  the  way.  Devotions  ended,  father  buries 
himself  in  the  New  York  Herald  or  Tribune  or 
Times  —  he  has  all  three  of  them,  and  you  don't 
hear  from  him  again  till  he  goes  to  bed,  unless  he 
wants  something.  Jack  gets  out  his  Latin  Lexi- 
con and  exercise  book,  and  mother  takes  her 
knitting,  or  sewing,  or  puts  on  her  specs  and  pores 
over  the  Missionary  Herald.  Nobody  speaks.  If 
they  do,  father  can't  read.  Now  isn't  that  ex« 
hilarating  to  a  young  fellow  who  was  born  with 
a  love  for  a  good  joke,  and  a  li vely  game  of  some- 
thing or  other,  and  a  propensity  for  social  inter 
course  ?  *  Well,  Lizzie,  I  thought  it  was  too  bad 
and  didn't  so  much  wonder  that  Al  kicks  in  the 
traces.  I  don't  know  but  I  should,  if  I  were  in 
his  place.  I'll  tell  you  what  we  must  do.  We 
must  have  him  come  up  here  once  a  week,  or  so. 
I  don't  know  that  it  will  make  any  material  dif- 


298       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

ference  with  him,  but  perhaps  he  won't  go  to  the 
dogs  quite  so  fast." 

"  Perhaps  not,"  said  Horace,  coming  up  to 
them.  "  Who  is  it  that's  going  to  the  dogs  ?  " 

"  Oh,  any  number  of  good-looking  young  fel- 
lows who  are  big  enough,  and  old  enough,  and 
ought  to  know  better.  You  can't  transfix  me 
with  that  gaze,  Horace.  I'm  not  one  of  them." 

"  I  don't  believe  you  are,  Carl.  But  look  out 
for  yourself.  One  can  back  off  a  precipice  inad- 
vertently as  well  as  jump  off  intentionally. 
How's  business  to-day  ? JJ 

"  Pretty  much  as  usual.  What  have  you  and 
old  Prewitt  been  about  ?  —  brother  Archibald, 
I  ought  to  say,  I  suppose." 

"  Riding,  most  of  the  time.  We  drove  to 
Shalersville  this  forenoon,  and  to  Moorfield 
Junction  after  lunch.  —  Alice  is  beckoning  me. 
Or  is  it  you,  Carl  ?  " 


Home  Again.  299 

"  Oh,  it's  to  you.  Go.  I'm  tired,  and  don't 
want  to  get  up  just  yet.*' 

Carl  leaned  back  against  the  railing.  His 
father  and  Mr.  Prewitt  stood  on  the  lawn  not 
far  away,  evidently  engaged  in  a  lively  discus- 
sion, for  Mr.  Staniford  was  stammering  fearfully, 
and  Mr.  Prewitt  endeavoring  to  convince  him 
that  he  had  the  right  of  the  argument,  appar- 
ently by  some  subtle  logic  of  the  finger  of  one 
hand  playing  upon  the  palm  of  the  other. 

Carl  laughed,  and  drew  Lizzie's  attention. 

"  Look  at  those  two  buffers  —  "  he  began. 

"  Why  1  Carl ! "  exclaimed  Lizzie,  reproach- 
fully. 

«  Why,  —  what?" 

*«  Father  a  « buffer  ? '  " 

"  Isn't  he,  Miss  Critic  ?  " 

"  It's  city-fied,  I  suppose,  to  say  « buffer,'  and 
'  governor,'  and  *  old  man,'  '  she  replied,  — 


300       The  Stamfords  of  StanifordCs  Folly. 

Lizzie  was  not  quite  so  timid  about  expressing 
her  opinions  now,  as  she  had  been  once,  — "  but 
it  isn't  exactly  —  " 

"  Respectful  ?  Oh,  no.  I  don't  claim  that  for 
it,  puss.  But,  mind  you,  I'm  speaking  of,  and 
not  to  him.  I  shouldn't  address  him  as  '  My 
beloved  buffer,'  you  know." 

"  Of  course  not.  But  is  it  just  the  thing 
to  —  " 

"  What  a  way  you  have  of  stopping  in  the 
middle  of  your  sentences,  sis.  Why  don't  you 
out  with  it  ?.  To  what  ?  Let's  have  the  rest  of 
it,  Lizzie." 

"  To  speap  of  him  yourself,  as  you  wouldn't 
want  others  to  do." 

"You  have  me  there.  How  you  do  always 
cut  in  with  a  reason  for  everything  !  You're 
a  regular  Chitty." 

"Am   I?    Well,  I    don't    mind    your    hard 


Home   Again.  301 

names,  Carl,  so  long  as  I  don't  know  what  they 
mean." 

'*  Chitty  ?  Why,  Chitty  was  a  lawyer,  —  at 
least,  I've  always  supposed  he  was.  He's  dead, 
now.  But  logic  isn't,  it  seems.  —  What !  you 
want  to  get  upon  my  knee,  Minnie  ?  Well,  come 
along,  daughter  of  Prewitt.  One  can't  well 
resist  you.  But  you  must  let  me  smoke,  —  if 
Lizzie's  willing." 

'*  I've  come  back  just  in  time,"  said  Horace, 
playfully  taking  the  cigar  out  of  his  brother's 
fingers.  "  The  half-dozenth  or  the  dozenth?  — 
which  is  it,  Carl  ?  "  he  asked,  holding  it  behind 
him. 

"  It's  the  last  in  my  case,"  replied  Carl,  a 
trifle  vexed.  "  If  you  want  itr  you're  welcome 
to  it." 

Horace  handed  it  back. 

"  I  wouldn't,  if  I  were  you,"  lie  said,  kindly. 


302       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford' s  Folly. 

"  But  you're  not  me  ;  so  that  puts  another  face 
on  the  matter.  I  can  remember,  though,  when 
you  liked  a  cigar  as  well  as  I,  and  smoked  like  a 
chimney,  too.  You've  sowed  your  *  wild  oats,' 
Horace.  That's  good.  But  I  suppose  I've  got 
mine  to  sow." 

"  God  forbid!  — for  mother's  sake,"  exclaimed 
Horace,  and  turning  on  his  heel,  he  walked 
away. 

It  startled  Carl  a  little,  and  glancing  at  Lizzie, 
he  saw  a  shadow  on  her  face. 

"  And  you've  got  the  same  '  bee  in  your 
bonnet,'  it  seems,  sis.  What's  the  harm  of  a 
cigar  ?  Now  tell  me." 

"  Oh  !  Iddie  !  "  cried  Minnie  ;  'oo'd  got  bee 
in  'oo'd  hat.  Get  it  out !  get  it  out,  kick  !  —  'oo 
be  'tung!" 

And  she  jumped  down,  picked  up  Lizzie's 
hat,  and  commenced  shaking  it  vigorously,  over 
the  railing. 


Home   Again.  303 

••  Minnie  'on't  'et  bee  'ting  'oo,  Iddie  ! n 

Carl  laughed  heartily  at  the  performance,  and 
so  did  Lizzie. 

"  How  literal  children  always  are  !  "  said  Carl. 
"  There's  baby,  now,  running  to  her  papa  for 
protection.  She  thinks  she's  going  to  be  stung, 
sure.  Tell  me,  Lizzie,  why  don't  you  like  to 
have  me  smoke  ?  Not  that  I  mean  to  let  you 
influence  me,  at  all,"  he  added  roguishly.  "  I'm 
several  years  older  than  you  are,  and  you  ought 
to  take  my  advice  rather  than  I  yours." 

Lizzie  blushed  a  little. 

"  Never  mind,  then,"  she  answered. 

"  Ah  !  but  just  for  curiosity's  sake,  oblige  me. 
Won't  you  ?  I  want  another  leaf  from  Chitty." 

*'  You're  making  sport  of  me,  Carl.  Why 
don't  you  ask  somebody  that's  older  than  I  ? 
Why  don't  you  ask  Horace  ?  " 

"  Oh  I    bother  Horace  I    I  can  guess  at  his 


304       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  lolly. 

reasons  well  enough.  But  I  want  to  know 
yours.  Now  see.  If  you  won't  tell  me,  I'll 
light  this  —  match.  And  if  you  will,  whether 
I  agree  with  you  or  not,  I  won't  light  this  cigar, 
although  I  want  to  very  much.  Instead,  I'll 
offer  it  to  brother  Prewitt.  He's  fire  proof." 

Lizzie's  face  lighted. 

"  Well." 

"  To  begin  with.  Clear  your  throat  in  good 
shape,  sis.  That's  right.  Go  on." 

"  If  there  isn't  any  harm,  there  isn't  any  good 
comes  of  smoking." 

"  She  commences  "by  stating  the  case  negative- 
ly. That's  lawyer-like,  as  anybody  can  see, 
though  I  don't  really  know  anything  about  it. 
Now,  just  you  hold  on,  sis.  Did  you  ever  smoke, 
yourself  ?  If  you  never  did,  how  do  you  know 
there's  no  good  ?  Why,  smoking  preserves  the 
teeth." 


Home   Again.  305 

"Well,  it  doesn't  preserve  them  so  that  they 
keep  handsome.  They  grow  yellow  and  ugly 
looking.  And  tobacco  taints  one's  breath. 

"  Now,  as  I  said  before,  I  don't  know  anything 
about  it,  but  it  seems  to  me  that  you've  got  over 
the  negative  fence  into  the  positive  grounds. 
To  proceed. " 

"  It  makes  people  nervous,  and  gets  their 
heads  and  stomachs  out  of  order.  I  never 
smoked  ;  —  girls  don't,  often,  —  but  ever  so 
many  persons  who  have,  say  it  gives  one  a  taste 
for  liquor.  And  then,  besides,  cigars  cost  a 
great  deal  of  money,  —  good  ones,  Fred  told  me, 
are  very  expensive,  and  amount  to  ever  so  much 
in  the  course  of  a  year.  And  when  you've  got 
through  with  your  cigars  and  your  money,  there's 
nothing  to  show  for  it  but  —  the  spittoon." 

Carl  clapped  a  gentle  applause. 

"  Good !  good  !  Elizabeth  Stamford,  Doctor  of 
20 


306       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Laws.  You've  pointed  your  argument  equal  to 
a  first-class  green-bag.  I  retire  herewith  from 
the  field  of  logic  to  present  my  weed  to  brother 
Prewitt.  I'm  much  obliged  to  you." 

Horace,  who  had  been  indulging  in  a  brief 
meditation  at  the  other  end  of  the  veranda,  now 
left  his  post  and  walked  toward  Lizzie,  whose 
busy  fingers  were  already  searching  for  a  dropped 
stitch  in  her  mother's  knitting. 

As  he  approached,  he  heard  her  say,  probably 
in  reply  to  Mrs.  Stamford's  question,  — 

"  Oh,  I  was  only  giving  him  my  reasons  for  not 
approving  of  smoking,  — that  was  all." 

"  Were  they  satisfactory,  do  you  think,  Lizzie  ? 
I  saw  that  Carl  applauded  you." 

"  I  can't  tell,  I'm  sure.  I  don't  know  whether 
he  was  in  earnest,  or  making  a  jest  of  what  I  said. 
And  he  might  have  been  satisfied  with  them, 
and  yet  keep  on  smoking  just  as  many  cigars  as 


Home   Again.  307 

ever.     I  don't  think  our  talk  amounted  to  any- 
thing." 

"  He  teased  you,"  said  Horace,  "  in  order  to 
mask  his  interest.  You  have  more  real  influence 
with  him  than  any  of  us,  except  mother,  and 
your  talk  may  amount  to  more  than  you  imagine. 
Carl  doesn't  like  advice  gratuitously  given ;  I've 
found  that  out ;  but  when  he  asks  for  counsel  or 
suggestion,  no  matter  how  much  sport  he  may 
appear  to  make  of  it  at  the  time,  be  sure  he 
considers  it  afterwards.  Drop  in  the  leaven, 
Lizzie,  whenever  you  have  an  opportunity,  and 
don't  be  discouraged.  It  will  work,  —  never 
fear ;  for  Carl  thinks  there  never  was  a  little 
sister  so  patient  and  good,  loving  and  devoted,  as 

you."    . 

"  And  she  is  a  darling,  Horace,"  said  Mrs. 
Staniford,  putting  her  arm  about  the  young  girl, 
as  she  knelt  beside  her  ;  "  and  I  bless  God  for 


308       Tne  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

her  every  day  of  my  life.  You  don't  know  what 
a  comfort  she  has  been  to  father  and  me.  No 
child  was  ever  more  gentle  and  dutiful,  than  my 
daughter  Lizzie." 

"  Don't  praise  me,  mother,"  said  Lizzie.  "  It 
makes  me  feel  badly.  I  owe  more  to  you  than  I 
can  ever  pay ;  and  love  me  as  dearly  as  you  may, 
you  can't  begin  to  love  me  as  I  love  you." 

And  grateful  tears  stood  in  Lizzie's  eyes.  She 
lifted  herself  up,  and  drawing  the  dear,  calm, 
sweet  face  toward  her,  kissed  it  again  and  again. 

"  Let  me  put  my  share  in  the  same  spot," 
said  Horace,  suiting  the  action  to  the  word. 

"  Mother !  you're  the  best  woman  that  ever 
lived!" 

**  I  wish  I  were,"  she  replied.  "  If  I  had  been, 

my  sons "  She  stopped  a  moment.  "  God 

is  good,"  she  said.  "  I'll  trust  him.  Horace,  my 
dear,  where  is  Agnes  ?  I  haven't  seen  her  since 
lunch." 


Home  Again.  309 

"Oh,  she  ran  away  from  me.  Shall  I  take 
Lizzie,  and  find  her  ?  " 

*;  Yes,  if  you  will.  I  have  a  surprise  for  her. 
Madge  must  be  with  her,  I  think,  for  I  miss  her 
merry  voice." 

"  And  Mabel,  too,'*  said  Lizzie. 

"  Is  this  your  hat,  Lizzie  ? ''  inquired  Horace. 
"  What  ails  it  ?  " 

She  laughed  heartily. 

"I  don't  wonder  you  ask!"  she  exclaimed. 
"  Why,  Minnie  hasn't  left  anything  of  it  except 
the  strings,  I  believe.  The  little  witch  I  " 

"  Never  mind  the  brim.  Put  it  on,  and  we'll 
make  believe  you're  a  gypsy." 

"  No.  It  looks  too  bad.  I'll  tie  my  veil 
about  my  head  instead." 

Minnie  came  running  toward  them. 

"  Tate  me,  too,  Hot,"  she  said,  holding  out 
her  arms.  Then,  spying  the  castaway  hat,  she 


310       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

brought  it  to  Lizzie.  "  Here,  Iddie  ! "  she  ex- 
claimed, eagerly,  "  Here  'oo'n  hat.  I  dot  bee 
out." 

Horace  caught  her  up.  He  was  very  fond  of 
his  little  niece. 

"  Lizzie's  going  to  wear  her  veil,  Chicken,"  he 
exclaimed.  "  But  she's  much  obliged  to  you  for 
shaking  out  the  bee." 

At  the  foot  of  the  broad  veranda  steps,  Carl 
joined  them  with  Sallie  Van  Alsten,  and  they 
walked  on  together  to  the  grapery,  where  they 
found  the  Three  Graces,  as  Sallie  called  them, 
and  Edith,  helping  themselves  to  Hamburgs, 
while  Oscar  was  watching  the  gardener  at  work 
outside. 

"  We  didn't  know  but  you  were  trying  those 
handsome  new  balls  and  mallets,"  said  Sallie. 

"  Let's  christen  them,"  proposed  Edith. 
"  Come,  Uncle  Horace,  put  the  baby  down,  and 
lend  a  hand." 


Home   Again.  31 1 

"  Can't,  possibly,"  he  replied.  "  And  mother 
wants  to  see  Agnes.  But  there  are  enough 
without  us.  Take  hold,  Carl  and  Sallie.  Come, 
Oscar,  you're  needed;  pair  off  with  Lizzie. 
There,  Edith,  your  hosts  are  marshalled.  He 
offered  his  arm  to  Agnes,  and  they  returned  to 
the  house,  and  soon  after  they  heard  the  clang  - 
clang  of  the  great  dinner-bell. 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

FABEWELL. 

days  passed  by  at  Staniford's  Folly, 
^  untroubled  and  shadowless.  Not  that 

the  little  ones  did  not  sometimes  cry,  or 
that  Mrs.  Prewitt  was  always  agreeable,  or  Edith 
invariably  sweet-tempered,  but  there  were  no 
dark  clouds  to  interrupt  their  happiness  long  at  a 
time.  They  enjoyed  each  other's  society ;  the 
ties  of  kindred  and  friendship  were  strengthened, 
and  the  great  mansion,  for  one  brief  summer,  at 
least,  ceased  to  seem  more  like  a  hotel  than  a 

(312) 


Farewell.  313 

home,  with  the  ringing  laughter  of  merry  chil- 
dren, and  the  glad  content  of  the  other  guests 
whom  the  fairy  of  the  castle  took  to  her  heart 
not  less  than  her  table.  Winged  days  they  were, 
and  forever  to  be  remembered.  If  they  only 
could  have  lasted. 

It  was  the  last  of  August,  and  the  Rentzes 
and  Horace  were  making  their  preparations  to 
return  to  Chicago.  The  Prewitts  had  already 
gone  home. 

"  Oh,  Auntie  Staniford !  "  said  Sallie.  "  We 
have  had  the  most  delightful  summer  !  When  I 
get  back  to  the  old  humdrum  life,  this  will  seem 
like  a  lovely  dream  to  me,  as  short  as  it  was 
beautiful !  " 

"  A  dream  often  to  be  realized,  I  hope,  my  dear," 
replied  the  fairy,  kissing  her  tenderly,  and  then 
her  daughter  Agnes.  "  Ah  !  bright  faces !  you 
little  know  how  I  shall  miss  you  when  you  are 


314       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford1 8  Folly. 

gone,  —  how  I  shall  long  to  have  you  back  again  I 
I  shall  have  my  dream,  too.  I  shall  close  my 
eyes,  and  see  your  shadows  flitting  through  the 
sunlit  rooms,  and  down  the  veranda,  and  across 
the  lawn,  and  for  a  few  minutes  it  will  all  be  as 
real  to  me  as  it  is  to-day.  Agnes !  when  you 
are  at  home  once  more,  —  in  your  own  home,  — 
with  Horace,  tell  him,  my  dear  girl,  that  this 
was  the  happiest  summer  of  my  life,  —  tell  him 
I  said  so ;  and  that  I  shall  fold  it  away  in  my 
memory  as  one  folds  away  a  rose  in  a  book  that 
is  precious  and  seldom  opened.  And  yet,  if 
God  will !  —  we  know  not  the  future,  —  we  will 
repeat  it  next  year,  and  I  will  have  all  my 
scattered  children  about  me,  —  every  one  ;  even 
William  and  Lucy.  I  wish  they  had  been  with 
us  this  summer ;  for  I  sometimes  think,  —  and 
yet  I  don't  like  to  cast  a  cloud  upon  your  going 
—  that  we  may  never  all  meet  again." 


Farewell.  315 

Agnes  looked  up,  and  saw  tears  in  her  mother's 
eyes.  She  said  nothing,  but  kissed  them  away, 
and  slipping  her  arm  about  the  fairy,  leaned  her 
head  lovingly  upon  the  broad  shoulder. 

Sallie,  who  was  more  impulsive,  burst  out 
crying  in  earnest;  and  then,  laughing  in  the 
same  breath,  exclaimed, — 

"  Oh,  auntie  !  what  a  funny  spectacle  we 
must  present! — a  trio  of  dissolving  Niobes ! 
Come.  We'll  turn  the  bright  side  out,  and 
keep  it  out,  and  toss  our  handkerchiefs  away. 
But  I'd  forgotten.  I  shall  want  to  save  mine  to 
wave  to  you  from  the  car  window,  —  for  of 
course  you'll  see  us  off  to-morrow.'* 

"  Oh  yes,  my  dear." 

"  And  if  you'd  only  throw  an  old  slipper  after 
us,  for  luck  1 " 

"  Anything  you  say,  Sallie  —  and  you  shall 
have  my  prayers,  besides,"  she  added,  reverently 
and  sweetly. 


316       The  Stanifords  of  Staniford' '»  Folly. 

"  Then  we  shall  surely  arrive  at  Chicago 
without  accident ;  for  the  prayers  of  the  saints  are 
always  answered." 

Mrs.  Staniford  laid  her  hand  gently  upon  the 
young  girl's  lips. 

"  No  more,  my  dear,"  she  said.  "  We  mustn't 
trifle  with  things  sacred." 

"Indeed,  auntie,  I  meant  no  trifling,"  she 
replied.  "  For  you  are  a  saint,  I  think ;  and  I 
almost  worship  you  in  my  heart." 

"  Then  tear  down  the  shrine,  I  beg  you,  Sallie, 
and  build  a  holier  one.  I  am  only  a  handful 
of  animated  dust,  and  the  soul  which  the 
Author  of  all  life  breathed  into  it,  is  the  soul  of 
an  erring,  sinful  woman.  None  is  good  save 
One.  Ah  !  my  dear  girl !  He  is  Purity,  Good- 
ness, Love's  own  fullness.  Worship  Him.  He 
only  is  worthy." 

The  next  morning  was  a  busy  one,  as  you  may 


Farewell.  317 

imagine  ;  and  suoh  a  load  of  trunks  as  Peter 
strapped  into  the  wagon,  and  carried  away  to 
the  depot !  Then  he  came  back  with  the  checks, 
and  harnessed  the  bays  to  the  landau,  the  white 
horse  to  the  beach-wagon,  and  the  little  sorrel  — 
Lizzie's, — to  the  basket-phaeton,  and  soon  baskets, 
and  bags,  and  strapped  shawls,  and  other  bundles 
•were  deposited,  and  the  whole  party,  save  Mr. 
Staniford,  were  ready  to  start.  He  had  gone 
before  them,  having  some  business  matters  to 
attend  to  early,  and  was  to  meet  them  at  the 
depot. 

The  expected  train  had  not  yet  arrived  ;  so 
they  alighted,  and  separated  into  little  groups  in 
the  waiting-room,  laughing,  and  chatting,  and 
saying  last  words,  while  Peter  fastened  the  horse 
outside. 

"  I  wish  father  would  come  !  "  remarked  Carl 
to  Horace,  sotto  voce,  and  they  went  toward  the 


318        The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

window.  "  That  new  black  horse  isn't  used  to 
the  steam-whistle,"  he  continued,  anxiously, 
**  and  I'd  rather  see  him  on  the  spot,  tied  to  the 
hitching-post,  than  have  father  run  the  risk  of 
crossing  the  track  with  him  after  the  cars  come 
in  sight.  He's  hard  bitted  and  mettlesome,  and 
it's  all  father  can  do  to  manage  him." 

Horace  opened  the  door,  and  they  walked 
along  the  platform,  where  they  found  Fred, 
loaded  down  with  travelling  accessories,  seated 
on  a  trunk,  and  waiting. 

He  took  out  his  watch. 

"  Father's  late,  boys,"  he  said.  "  I  hope 
we're  not  going  to  miss  his  good-bye.  Alice  and 
baby  won't  like  that.'* 

"  I  hope  not,"  echoed  Horace,  and  consulted 
his  own  watch.  **  He  ought  to  be  here,  this 
minute,"  he  said,  looking  nervously  up  the  road. 

"  There's  the  whistle  !  "  exclaimed  Carl ;  and 


Farewell.  319 

"  Here  comes  the  buggy  tearing  over  the  hill !  " 
said  Horace,  in  the  same  breath.  "  What  ails 
the  horse  ?  Is  he  running  away  ?  " 

Fred  shot  one  quick  glance  in  that  direction. 

"  Good  heaven  !  "  burst  from  his  lips.  "  Boys ! 
look  after  these  traps."  And,  flinging  them 
from  him,  he  sprang  up,  and  dashed  across  the 
track  right  in  the  face  of  the  advancing  engine. 

They  saw  Mr.  Stamford  braced  back  upon  the 
seat,  drawing  on  the  lines  with  all  his  might, 
while  the  horse,  frantic  with  terror,  was  plung- 
ing forward  to  certain  destruction.  They  saw- 
Fred  seize  the  creature  by  the  head,  clinging  to 
the  bridle  with  desperate  energy,  while  he 
shouted  to  Mr.  Staniford  to  save  himself.  They 
saw  what  blanched  both  their  faces,  and  made 
them  sick  with  sudden  terror.  A  struggle,  short, 
sharp,  and  fearful ;  and  then  —  the  engine 
crashing  down  upon  those  who  were  so  dear  to 


320       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

them.  A  cry  rent  the  air,  which  could  be  heard 
above  the  din  of  the  wheels  and  the  roar  of  the 
locomotive,  and  a  shudder  ran  through  the 
startled  passengers  at  the  sound. 

They  backed  the  engine,  and  lifted  from  the 
bloody  track  —  all  that  was  left  of  Nahum 
Staniford  and  his  heroic  son-in-law. 

The  latter  was  mangled  and  lifeless.  Death 
came  to  him  almost  instantly.  But  Mr.  Staniford 
still  breathed,  though  his  legs  were  both  severed 
from  his  body.  They  bore  him  tenderly  into 
the  waiting-room,  and  then  his  life  ebbed  rapid- 
ly away.  He  knew  all  the  tearful  faces  which 
bent  over  him,  and  kept  his  arm  about  his  wife, 
to  the  last. 

"  Forgive !  —  Margaret,"  was  all  he  said  ;  and 
then,  with  a  brief  struggle,  came  the  parting 
breath. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

PAETTNG  GLIMPSES. 

NOTHER  year    has  vanished.     Another 
summer  sleeps  with  the  past. 

It  is  a  lovely  October  morning.  The 
sky  is  blue  and  cloudless,  the  air  clear  and  sweet, 
and  the  brown  grass  is  covered  with  a  frosty 
rime  sparkling  in  the  glow  of  sunrise.  If  "  God 
is  great  "  seems  written  upon  the  grand,  calm 
brows  of  yonder  distant  hills,  surely  "  God  is 
good "  breathes  in  the  fresh  beauty  of  tliis 
autumn  landscape. 

21  (321) 


322       The  Stamfords  of  Staniforff  s  Folly. 

Before  us,  under  those  three  wide-spreading 
elms,  now  yellow,  and  shedding  their  leaves  upon 
the  sward,  is  an  old  farm-house,  large  and  roomy, 
with  gables  .many,  and  old-fashioned  windows 
almost  as  broad  as  they  are  long,  containing  —  I 
dare  not  say  how  many  funny  little  panes  of 
bubbly  glass,  and  wide,  substantial  chimneys  from 
which  no  tempest  has  ever  started  a  brick,  and 
which  an  earthquake  could  scarcely  shake  down. 

You  would  know  by  just  looking  at  it  from 
the  outside,  that  the  rooms  were  delightfully 
low-studded,  deep-wainscotted,  and  mysterious, 
with  their  great  open-mouthed  fire-places,  shady 
corners,  and  out-of-the-way  cupboards  here  and 
there,  and  their  oaken  posts  and  beams  dark  with 
age  and  smoke.  You  would  know  there  were 
plenty  of  sunny  little  nooks,  too,  up  stairs  ;  and 
blind  entries  and  passages  where  one  might  easi- 
ly lose  one's  self ;  and  a  perfect  treasure-house  of  a 


Parting  Glimpses.  323 

garret  over  all,  filled  with  wrecks  of  by-gone  fur- 
niture, piles  of  worm-eaten  books  yellow  with 
age,  here  a  broken-down  spinning-wheel,  and 
there  a  flint-lock  musket  that  did  duty  against 
the  British  in  the  Revolution,  and  in  the  gables, 
ghostly  bunches  of  sweet  herbs,  white  with  dust, 
and  falling  to  balmy  decay.  Old  trunks  and 
boxes  ;  chests  of  forgotten  things,  some  rare  and 
curious,  some  scarcely  hinting  at  the  colors  with 
which  they  were  gay  a  century  ago  ;  broken 
farm-utensils  ;  rusty  andirons  ;  a  dusty  bunch  of 
yellow  palm-leaf  here  ;  yonder,  a  cracked  violin ; 
and  hanging  amongst  the  rafters,  spiders  luxuriat- 
ing in  its  shady  roominess,  a  bonnet  of  the  days 
of  the  empire,  odd,  uncouth,  and  witch-like. 

It  is  the  old  homestead  of  the  Stamfords,  — 
this  ancient  farm-house,  and  here  Nahum  Stam- 
ford and  all  his  children  were  born,  though  only 
William,  Anna,  and  Alice,  remember  much  about 
their  early  days  under  the  homely  roof. 


324       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

Hark  !  a  door  opens,  and  a  girl's  voice  rings 
sweetly  out  on  the  autumn  air.  She  is  singing  a 
madrigal,  brimming  over  with  gladness.  She 
never  dared  to  sing  much  at  Stamford's  Folly. 
There !  She  has  vanished. 

This  must  be  the  main  entrance,  for  the  brass 
knocker  is  brightly  polished,  and  there  is  a  name- 
plate.  W.  STAMFORD,  it  says,  in  Old  English 
capitals.  That  smacks  of  the  city  a  little, — 
does  it  not  ? 

Will  you  lift  the  knocker,  or  shall  I  ?  Rat-tat  I 
Rat-tat-tat ! 

Somebody  is  certainly  coming.  Do  you  know 
the  step  ? 

Lucy ! 

Yes,  it  is  Mrs.  Scott,  or  rather,  Mrs.  Staniford, 
once  more  ;  for  William  Staniford  is  no  longer  a 
refugee.  They  have  come  back  to  the  old  home, 
—  theirs,  now,  and  their  mother's,  and  Lizzie's. 


Parting  G-limpsea.  325 

Stamford's  Folly  has  passed  into  other  hands, 
and  is  what  it  alwaj's  ought  to  have  been,  a  sum- 
mer boarding-house. 

All  Englewood  supposed  Mr.  Staniford  to  be 
possessed  of  immense  wealth ;  his  death  proved 
their  error.  He  was  deeply  involved  ;  had  sus- 
tained from  time  to  time  great  losses ;  his  invest- 
ments had  not  been  as  profitable  as  formerly  ;  he 
had  speculated  largely  and  rashly,  had  borrowed 
money ;  and  had  sunk  Mr.  Rentz's  fortune  as 
well  as  his  own.  It  was  a  great  failure, —  as 
great  a  failure  as  was  the  man's  life. 

His  death  caused  a  momentary  sensation,  sharp 
and  sudden ;  and  then —  he  was  forgotten,  save 
in  the  hearts  of  his  wife  and  children.  Even 
Alice  remembered  him  bitterly  at  first;  for  had 
he  not  robbed  her  husband  of  his  all,  and  her- 
self of  one  who  was  dearer  to  her  than  her  own 
life? 


826       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

And  yet  she  learned  to  say,  "  Pa  didn't  mean 
it.  Pa  would  never  have  taken  the  bread  out  of 
my  children's  months.  He  had  too  tender  a 
heart  for  that."  And  the  judgment  of  her  calmer 
moments  was  juster  than  the  judgment  of  her 
grief. 

She  had  said  once,  that  come  what  would,  she 
would  never  be  dependent.  And  though  no 
doubt  her  mother  owed  her  a  home,  she  preferred 
to  rely  alone  upon  herself  and  her  daugh- 
ters. 

She  had  many  friends  in  Chicago,  for  she  had 
always  been  warm-hearted  and  hospitable,  and 
her  husband  had  been  beloved  by  all  who  knew 
him.  She  became  head  cloak-cutter  in  a  large 
and  fashionable  manufacturing  establishment, 
and  Madge  obtained  a  situation  as  teacher  in  one 
of  the  public  schools ;  while  Mabel  was  installed 
housekeeper,  with  the  care  of  her  little  sister. 


Parting  Glimpses.  327 

It  was  hard ;  for  the  woman  had  tasted  the 
sweets  of  luxury ;  but  Alice  Rentz  had  a  brave 
heart,  and  the  memory  of  her  husband's  con- 
stancy and  cheerfulness  kept  her  up.  Then, 
too,  she  had  this  always  to  recall  in  connection 
with  him ;  —  that  to  the  last  he  was  unselfish, 
living  for  others ;  his  death  itself  a  heroic  if 
vain  sacrifice.  I  think  it  helped  her  over  many 
stumbling  blocks  and  rough  places  ;  and  I  know 
it  made  her  a  better  and  gentler  woman. 

Mrs.  Prewitt  strongly  urged  her  mother  and 
Lizzie  to  come  and  live  with  her,  in  Philadel- 
phia ;  but  the  good  woman  knew  only  too  well 
that  both  would  be  happier  elsewhere.  The 
old  homestead  was  still  left  to  her;  and  she 
returned  to  the  farm-house  under  the  elms,  the 
home  of  her  early  married  life. 

Then  came  a  letter  from  the  firm  whom  Wil- 
liam had  wronged,  saying  that  they  forgave  his 


828       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

crime,  and  had  taken  means  to  prevent  his  being 
punished  further  ;  and  William  and  Lucy  were 
re-instated  under  the  roof  from  which  he  had 
been  banished  when  a  young  man. 

There  was  a  large  farm,  and  it  had  been 
profitable  under  good  management,  in  days  gone 
by;  and  William,  who  had  now  no  wish  to 
return  to  the  city,  bent  his  energies  to  turn  it  to 
account  once  more.  He  strove  with  the  earth ; 
he  planted  and  sowed,  and  a  new  light  came 
into  his  eyes,  a  healthier  color  to  his  cheeks,  and 
a  cheerier  tone  to  his  voice.  And  now  he  was 
harvesting,  and  planning  improvements,  and 
mentally  laying  out  the  work  for  the  next  year. 
Ah  !  how  good  it  is  to  have  something  to  do  ! 

Honest  work,   if  hard,   is    surely  better  and 
sweeter  than  bread  of  idleness. 

And  so   Lizzie   thought.     You    should  have 
Been  her  bustling  about  in  her  print  dress,  with 


Parting  Glimpses.  329 

broom  and  duster,  or  with  bared  arras  standing 
over  a  cloud  of  steam,  and  lifting  out  the  drip- 
ping china,  white  and  clean ;  shaking  the  mats 
under  the  elms  ;  singing  at  the  ironing-table,  or 
over  her  sewing,  snatches  of  Madge's  gay  songs ; 
calling  the  chickens  about  her,  and  feeding  them 
from  her  apron ;  or  leading  out  the  horse,  and 
harnessing  him  into  the  hay-rigging  for  William. 

But  Saturday  afternoons  Lizzie  donned  her 
best  attire,  and  sat  where  she  could  see  the  road, 
Mrs.  Staniford  in  the  rocking-chair  close  by, 
knitting  or  mending ;  and  you  could  tell  as 
plainly  as  if  they  had  spoken,  which  they  did, 
often,  as  you  may  be  sure,  —  that  somebody  was 
expected. 

Yes ;  Carl  always  spent  Sunday  with  them, 
and  glad  Sundays  those  were,  too  I  and  when 
Molly  or  Johnny,  or  both,  or  Al  Travers  accom- 
panied him,  they  were  gladder  still.  And  often 


830       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford*  B  Folly. 

Doctor  Bowles  drove  out  with  his  wife  on  pur- 
pose to  make  them  a  little  visit,  bringing  Lizzie 
or  Lacy  back  with  him  to  Englewood  for  a  day 
or  two  ;  or  William  got  out  the  buggy,  and  Mrs. 
Staniford  and  Lizzie  went  shopping  in  the  city. 

It  was  a  quiet  life  they  led  during  most  of  the 
year,  but  a  very  pleasant  one  ;  and  but  for  Mrs. 
Stamford's  anxiety  about  Carl,  would  have  been 
unshadowed  and  almost  too  sweet.  But  one 
cannot  have  pleasure  unalloyed  in  this  world ; 
and  so  this  good  fairy  still  had  her  cross  to  beai 
She  prayed  often,  and  wept  not  a  little,  and 
tried  to  hope  a  great  deal  for  this  her  youngest 
son,  so  impulsive  and  susceptible  to  temptation, 
and  now  and  then  she  spread  out  her  trouble 
before  Lucy  and  Lizzie,  and  they  talked  it  over 
together,  the  one  counselling  and  the  other  com- 
forting, until  she  blessed  God  for  her  children, 
and  took  fresh  courage,  lifting  only  a  corner  of 


Parting  Glimpses.  331 

her  burden,  and  leaving  the  rest  with  the  Lord  ; 
who  could  just  as  well  have  borne  it  wholly  for 
her. 

Truth  to  tell,  Carl  was  a  little  reckless  ;  but 
his  Sundays  at  home  did  him  more  good  than 
they  guessed.  Somehow,  his  better  self  always 
came  to  him  under  the  shadow  of  those  elms, 
and  with  every  new  week,  staid  longer  by  him. 
The  dear,  saintly  face  under  the  widow's  cap, 
spoke  to  him  as  often  —  almost  —  as  her  prayers 
in  his  behalf  spoke  to  God  ;  and  the  occasional 
home-letter  coming  when  he  least  expected  it, 
stirred  deep  chords  in  his  heart,  —  strong  and 
tender,  loving  and  reverent. 

Ah !  a  young  man.  meets  with  so  many 
allurements  to  evil  in  the  great  city !  Many  a 
mother  would  shudder  and  turn  soul-sick,  if  she 
knew  all ;  —  ay !  if  she  but  knew  a  tithe  of  them. 
And  yet  God  has  a  way  of  leading  about,  and 


332       The  Stamfords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

over,  and  through,  and  even  sometimes  to  the 
depths — turn  not  faint  at  the  thought! — of 
great  temptations,  and  bringing  the  worn  feet 
out  upon  a  rock,  at  last.  Stronger  are  they  who 
have  endured,  than  they  who  have  never  been 
tried.  Still  let  us  ever  pray,  "  Lead  us  not  into 
temptation  I "  for  so  Jesus  taught  us ;  while  we 
hope  in  the  transforming  power  of  mother's  love 
and  of  God's,  which  is  infinitely  fuller  and  deep- 
er, and  yearns  over  the  wayward  ones  with  a  pain 
we  may  never  fathom,  mothers  though  we  be  — 
a  pain  born  of  the  cross  and  Calvary.  God 
knows  we  love  our  sons  !  but,  blessed  thought  I 
—  they  are  dearer  to  him  than  even  to  us. 

And  so  the  months  roll  on,  carrying  with  them 
the  wild  winter  winds,  fierce  snows,  and  biting 
frosts,  and  it  is  spring  once  more,  and  Carl's 
birthday,  —  his  twenty-first. 

Horace  is  here  to   celebrate  it,  —  not  as  he 


Parting  Glimpses.  333 

celebrated  his  own  ;  and  has  brought  with  him 
Agnes  and  his  baby  boy.  Can  you  guess  what 
he  has  named  the  child  ? 

John  Bowles. 

So  you  see  he  has  not  forgotten. 

The  doctor  and  his  wife  are  here,  too,  and  of 
course  Johnny  and  Molly ;  and  so  are  Pearl  and 
Wallace,  Mary  and  George.  It  almost  seems 
like  the  old  days  come  back  again ;  only  the 
children  of  that  time  are  children  no  longer. 

Yet  the  fairy  is  the  fairy  still ;  but  lovelier,  if 
possible,  with  her  gray  hair,  and  in  her  widow's 
cap  and  weeds,  than  she  used  to  be  in  her  rich 
silks  and  costly  jewels.  How  they  all  gather 
about  her  !  and  how  radiant  is  her  smile  I  how 
gentle  her  caress !  how  kind  her  welcome  to 
each! 

"  Horace,  old  boy,"  says  Carl,  as  they  walk 
together  under  the  elms,  "  I've  been  thinking." 


334       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford's  Folly. 

"  I  don't  doubt  it,  Carl.     And  so  have  I." 

"  You  know  I  begin  to  be  a  man  to-day." 

"  I  hope  so." 

"  I  might  have  begun  sooner,  I  suppose." 

"  Yes,"  —  quietly,  but  without  reproach. 

"  Well,  to-day  is  as  good  a  starting-point  as 
I  shall  ever  have,  — perhaps  the  best." 

"  To-day  is  always  the  best,  Carl." 

"  I  mean  to  make  it  an  epoch  in  my  life." 

"  I'm  glad  of  that." 

"  I  mean  to  leave  off  every  bad  habit  I've 
formed,  when  I  ought  to  have  been  forming  good 
ones.  And,  so  help  me,  God  I  I'll  never  take 
one  of  them  up  again." 

Horace  pressed  his  brother's  hand. 
,    "  That  has  the  true  manly  ring  to  it !"  he  said 
in   tones  which  betrayed    his   strong    emotion 
"  God  bless  you  !  Carl." 

"  Will  you  tell  mother  —  to-morrow  ?  —  when 
I've  gone  back  to  the  city  ?  " 


Parting  Glimpses.  835 

"  My  dear  fellow,"  he  replied,  "  we  don't 
know  whether  we  shall  ever  see  to-morrow. 
Tell  her  to-day.  Tell  her  yourself.  She  would 
rather  hear  it  from  your  lips  than  from  mine. 
And,  indeed,  Carl,"  he  added,  "  I  couldn't,  — 
remembering  my  own  twenty-first.  And  you 
won't  ask  it,  — for  you  can't  have  forgotten  that 
I  began  life  like — like  a  beast,  rather  than  a 
man.  I  would  to  heaven  I  could  blot  that 
day,  and  many  another  just  like  it,  forever  from 
my  memory ! " 

"  Forgive  me,  Horace.  I  didn't  mean  to 
hurt  you.  You  re  right.  It's  my  place  to 
speak,  not  yours.  I'll  go  in,  now." 

He  found  her,  and  putting  his  arm  around 
her,  drew  her  to  the  window.  And  then  and 
there,  with  the  budding  grass  and  trees  before 
her,  and  the  unfailing  promise  of  all  good  in 
earth  and  air,  and  every  created  thing  tingling 


336       The  Stanifords  of  Stamford' s  Folly. 

•with  life,  he  told  her  manfully  all  he  had  resolved 
to  be  and  do. 

Do  you  think  she  was  happy  ?  If  I  know 
her  heart,  heaven  itself  will  not  make  her 
happier  than  she  was  in  that  glad  moment.  She 
clasped  her  arms  about  his  neck,  and  wept  on 
his  shoulder  tears  of  the  purest  joy. 

And  now,  between  me  and  the  characters  in 
my  story,  descends  a  veil,  which  I  cannot  pene- 
trate. It  is  called  the  Future.  Day  by  day  it 
will  lift  a  little,  and  become  Present.  And 
before  long  there  will  be  neither  Future  nor 
Present  to  any  of  us.  It  will  all  be  —  Past. 
Perhaps  somebody  will  tell  your  story  and  mine, 
then.  If  they  do,  I  wonder  what  they  will 
say  of  us.  I  would  like  to  have  them  say  sweet 
and  pleasant  things  of  me,  and  hide  a  loving 
memory  of  me  in  their  hearts. 

Would  not  you  ? 


Parting  Glimpses.  337 

Ah !  love  and  goodness  are  all  there  is  in  life 
worth  living  for.  And  that  recalls  the  moral  of 
my  story ;  for,  like  Pearl  Seccomb,  I  don't  feel 
that  my  stories  amount  to  much  without  one. 
Can  you  guess  what  it  is  ? 

This :  —  "A  good  name  is  rather  to  be  chosen 
than  great  riches  ;  and  loving  favor  rather  than 
silver  or  gold." 


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The  Golden  West :  as  Seen  by  the  Ridgway  Club.  By 
Margaret  Sidney.  Quarto,  boards,  1.75. 

Description  of  a  trip  through  Southern  California  taken  by  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Ridgway  and  their  children.  The  careful  observations 
and  the  fine  illustrations  make  it  a  treasure  for  boys  and  girls. 

Days  and  Nights  in  the  Tropics.  By  Felix  L, 
Oswa.d.  Quarto,  boards,  1.25. 

The  collector  of  curiosities  for  the  Brazilian  museum  goes  on 
his  quest  with  his  eyes  open.  A  book  of  adventures  and  hunters' 
yarns. 


CHOICE  BOOKS 

FOR   READERS    OF  ALL  AGES 


Pansy  Books. 


The  Pansy  for  1888.  With  colored  frontispiece.  Edited  by 
Pansy. 

More  than  400  pages  of  reading  and  pictures  for  children  of 
eight  to  fifteen  years  in  various  lines  of  interest.  Quarto,  boards, 
1.25. 

Pansy  Sunday  Book  for  1 889.  With  colored  frontispiece. 
Edited  by  Pansy.  Quarto,  boards,  1.25. 

Just  the  thing  for  children  on  Sunday  afternoon,  when  the  whole 
family  are  gathered  in  the  home  to  exchange  helpful  thought  and 
gain  new  courage  for  future  work  and  study  which  the  tone  and 
excellence  of  these  tales  impart. 

Pansy's  Story  Book.  By  Pansy.  Quarto,  boards, 
1.25. 

Made  up  largely  of  Pansy's  charming  stories  with  an  occasional 
sketch  or  poem  by  some  other  well-known  children's  author  to 
give  variety. 

Mother's  Boys  and  Girls.  By  Pansy.  Quarto,  boards, 
1.25. 

A  book  full  of  stories  for  boys  and  girls,  most  of  them  short,  so 
all  the  more  of  them.  Easy  words  and  plenty  of  pictures. 

Pansy  Token  (A);  or  An  Hour  with  Miss  Streator.  For 
Sunday  School  teachers.  241110,  paper,  15  cts. 

Young  Folks  Stories  of  American  History  and 
Home  Life.     Edited  by  Pansy.     Quarto,  cover  in  colors,  ?scts. 
Sketches,  tales  and  pictures  on  New- World  subjects. 

Youngr  Folks  Stories  of  Foreign  Lands.    Edited 
by  Pansy.     First  Series,  quarto,  cover  in  colors,  75  cts. 
Sketches,  tales  and  pictures  on  Old- World  subjects. 

Stories  and  Pictures  from  the  Life  of  Jesus. 
By  Pansv.  12010,  boards,  50  cts. 

The  life  of  Jesus  as  recorded  in  the  four  gospels  simplified  and 
unified  for  children. 

A  Christmas  Time.     By  Pansy.     i2mo,  boards.  15  cts. 
A  Christmas  story  full  of  Christmas  trees  and  sleigh-rides.     It» 
esaon  Jt»  the  joy  tp  be  got  in  helping  others. 


Helpful  Books  for  Young  Folks. 


Danger  Signals.  By;  Rev.  F.  E.  Clark,  President  of 
the  United  Society  of  Christian  Endeavor.  12010,  cloth,  75  cts. 

The  enemies  of  youth  from  the  business  man's  standpoint. 
The  substance  of  a  series  of  addresses  delivered  two  or  three 
years  ago  in  one  of  the  Boston  churches. 


Marion  Harland's  Cookery  for  Beginners,  umo, 

Tellum  cloth,  75  cts. 

The  untrained  housekeeper  needs  such  directions  as  will  not 
confuse  and  discourage  her.  Marion  Har'and  makes  her  book 
simple  and  practical  enough  to  meet  this  demand. 


Bible    Stories.     By  Laurie  Loring.     4to,  boards,  35  cts. 

Very  short  stories  with  pictures.  The  Creation,  Noah  and  the 
Dove,  Samuel,  Joseph,  Elijah,  the  Christ  Child,  the  Good  Shep- 
herd, Peter,  etc. 


The  Magic  Pear.     Oblong,  8vo,  boards,  75  cts. 

Twelve  outline  drawing  lessons  with  directions  for  the  amuse- 
ment of  little  folks.  They  are  genuine  pencil  puzzles  for  untaught 
fingers.  A  pear  gives  shape  to  a  dozen  animal  pictures. 


What  O'ClOCk  Jingles.  By  Margaret  Johnson.  Ob- 
long, 8vo,  boards,  75  cts. 

Twelve  little  counting  lessons.  Pretty  rhymes  for  small  chil- 
dren. Twenty-seven  artistic  illustrations  by  the  author. 


Ways  for  Boys  to  Make  and  Do  Things.    60  cts. 

Eight  papers  by  as  many  different  authors,  on  subjects  that  in- 
terest boys.  A  book  to  delight  active  boys  and  to  inspire  lazy 
ones. 


Our  Young    Folks  at   Home.     4to,   boards,   i.oo. 

A  collection  of  illustrated  prose  stories  by  American  authors  and 
artists.  It  is  sure  to  make  friends  among  children  of  all  ages. 
Colored  frontispiece. 


Peep  of  Day  Series.  3  vols.,  1.20  each. 

Peep  of  Day,  Line  upon  Line,  Precept  upon  Precept.  Ser- 
mpnettes  for  the  children,  so  cleverly  preached  that  the  children 
will  not  grow  sleepy. 


Home  Primer.     Boards,  square,  8vo,  50  cts. 
A  book  for  the  little  ones  to  learn  to  read  in  before  they  are  old 
enough  to  be  sent  off  to  school,     too  illustrations. 


THE  ART  OP  LIVING.  From  the  Writings  of 
Samuel  Smiles.  With  Introduction  by  the  ven- 
erable Dr.  I  eabocly  of  Harvard  University,  and 
Biographical  Sketch  by  the  editor,  Carrie  Adelaide 
Cooke.  Bos 'on  :  D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price 
$1.00. 

Samuel  Snr.iles  is  the  Benjamin  Franklin  of  Eng- 
land. His  sayings  have  a  similar  terseness,  apt- 
ness and  fore? ;  they  are  directed  to  practical  ends, 
like  Franklins;  they  have  the  advantage  of  being 
nearer  our  tine  and  therefore  more  directly  related 
to  subjects  ipon  which  practical  wisdom  is  of 
practical  use 

Success  in  life  is  his  subject  all  through,  The  Art 
of  Living ;  and  he  confesses  on  the  very  first  page 
that  "  happiness  consists  in  the  enjoyment  of  little 
pleasures  sea  .tered  along  the  common  path  of  life, 
which  in  the  eager  search  for  some  great  and  ex- 
citing joy  we  are  apt  to  overlook.  It  finds  deligrhf; 
in  the  perfoi  mance  of  common  duties  faithfully 
and  honorabl/  fulfilled." 

Let  the  reac  er  go  back  to  that  quotation  again  and 
consider  how"  contrary  it  is  to  the  spirit  that  under- 
lies the  busint  isses  that  are  nowadays  tempting  men 
to  sudden  fortune,  torturing  with  disappointments 
nearly  all  wh« »  yield,  and  burdening  the  successful 
beyond  their  endurance,  shortening  lives  and  mak- 
ing them  wea  ry  and  most  of  them  empty. 

Is  it  worth  while  to  join  the  mad  rush  for  the 
lottery ;  or  tc  take  the  old  road  to  slow  success  ? 

This  book  of  the  chosen  thoughts  of  a  rare  phil- 
osopher leads  to  contentment  as  well  as  wisdom ; 
for,  when  we  choose  the  less  brilliant  course  be- 
cause we  are  jure  it  is  the  best  one,  we  have  the 
most  complete  and  lasting  repose  from  anxiety. 


MONTEAGLE.  By  Pansy.  Boston :  D.  Lothrop 
Company.  Price  75  cents.  Both  girls  and  boys 
will  find  this  story  of  Pansy's  pleasant  and  profit- 
able reading.  Dilly  West  is  a  character  whom  the 
first  will  find  it  an  excellent  thing  to  intimate,  and 
boys  will  find  in  Hart  Hammond  a  noble,  manly, 
fellow  who  walks  for  a  time  dangerously  near 
temptation,  but  escapes  through  providential  in- 
fluences, not  the  least  of  which  is  the  steady 
devotion  to  duty  of  the  young  girl,  who  becomes 
an  unconscious  power  of  good. 

A  DOZEN  OF  THEM.  By  Pansy.  Boston :  D. 
Lothrop  Company.  Price  60  cents.  A  Sunday- 
school  story,  written  in  Pansy's  best  vein,  and 
having  for  its  hero  a  twelve-year-old  boy  who  has 
been  thrown  upon  the  world  by  the  death  of  his 
parents,  and  who  has  no  one  left  to  look  after 
him  but  a  sister  a  little  older,  whose  time  is  fully 
occupied  in  the  milliner's  shop  where  she  is  em- 
ployed. Joe,  for  that  is  the  boy's  name,  finds  a 
place  to  work  at  a  farmhouse  where  there  is  a  small 
private  school.  His  sister  makes  him  promise  to 
learn  by  heart  a  verse  of  Scripture  every  month. 
It  is  a  task  at  first,  but  he  is  a  boy  of  his  word, 
and  he  fulfills  his  promise,  with  what  results  the 
reader  of  the  story  will  find  out.  It  is  an  excellent 
book  for  the  Sunday-school. 

AT  HOME  AND  ABROAD.  Stories  from  TJie  Pansy 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price,  $1.00.  A 
score  of  short  stories  which  originally  appeared 
in  the  delightful  magazine,  The  Pansy,  have  been 
here  brought  together  in  collected  form  with  the 
illustrations  which  originally  accompanied  them. 
They  are  from  the  pens  of  various  authors,  and 
«re  bright,  instructive  and  entertaining 


ABOUT  GIANTS.  By  Isabel  Smith  son.  Boston : 
D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price  60  cents.  In  this 
little  volume  Miss  Smithson  has  gathered  together 
many  curious  and  interesting  facts  relating  to 
real  giants,  or  people  who  have  grown  to  an  ex- 
traordinary size.  She  does  not  believe  that  there 
was  ever  a  race  of  giants,  but  that  those  who  are 
so-called  are  exceptional  cases,  due  to  some  freak 
of  nature.  Among  those  described  are  Cutter, 
the  Irish  giant,  who  was  eight  feet  tall,  Tony 
Payne,  whose  height  exceeded  seven  feet,  and 
Chang,  the  Chinese  giant,  who  was  on  exhibition 
in  this  country  a  few  years  ago.  The  volume 
contains  not  only  accounts  of  giants,  but  also  of 
dwarfs,  and  is  illustrated. 


AMERICAN  AUTHORS.  By  Amanda  B.  Harris. 
Boston:  D.  Lothrop  Company.  Price  $1.00.  This 
is  one  of  the  books  we  can  heartily  commend  to 
young  readers,  not  only  for  its  interest,  but  for 
the  information  it  contains.  All  lovers  of  books 
have  a  natural  curiosity  to  know  something  about 
their  writers,  and  the  better  the  books,  the  keener 
the  curiosity.  Miss  Harris  has  written  the  various 
chapters  of  the  volume  with  a  full  appreciation  of 
this  fact.  She  tells  us  about  the  earlier  group  of 
American  writers,  Irving,  Cooper,  Prescott,  Emer- 
son, and  Hawthorne,  all  of  whom  are  gone,  and 
also  of  some  of  those  who  carae  later,  among 
them  the  Gary  sisters,  Thoreau,  Lowell,  Helen 
Hunt,  Donald  G.  Mitchell  and  others.  Miss  Har- 
ris has  a  happy  way  of  imparting  information,  and 
the  boys  and  girls  into  whose  hands  this  little 
book  may  fall  will  find  it  pleasant  reading. 


TILTING  AT  WINDMILLS  :  A  Story  of  the  Blue 
Grass  Country.  By  Emma  M.  Connelly.  Boston : 
D.  Lothrop  Company.  12mo,  $1.50. 

Nor  since  the  days  of  "  A  Fool's  Errand  "  has  so 
strong  and  so  characteristic  a  "  border  novel "  been 
brought  to  the  attention  of  the  public  as  is  now 
presented  by  Miss  Connelly  in  this  book  which  she 
so  aptly  terms  "  Tilting  at  Windmills."  Indeed,  it 
is  questionable  whether  Judge  Tourgee's  famous 
book  touched  so  deftly  and  yet  so  practically  the 
real  phases  of  the  reconstruction  period  and  the 
interminable  antagonisms  of  race  and  section. 

The  self-sufficient  Boston  man,  a  capital  fellow 
at  heart,  but  tinged  with  the  traditions  and  envi- 
ronments of  his  Puritan  ancestry  and  conditions, 
coming  into  his  strange  heritage  in  Kentucky  at 
the  close  of  the  civil  war,  seeks  to  change  by  in- 
stant manipulation  all  the  equally  strong  and  deep- 
rooted  traditions  and  environments  of  Blue  Grass 
society. 

His  ruthless  conscience  will  allow  of  no  com- 
promise, and  the  people  whom  he  seeks  to  prose- 
lyte alike  misunderstand  his  motives  and  spurn  his 
proffered  assistance. 

Presumed  errors  are  materialized  and  partial 
evils  are  magnified.  Allerton  tilts  at  windmills 
and  with  the  customary  Quixotic  results.  He  is, 
seemingly,  unhorsed  in  every  encounter. 

Miss  Connelly's  work  in  this,  her  first  novel,  will 
make  readers  anxious  to  hear  from  her  again  and 
It  will  certainly  create,  both  in  her  own  and  other 
States,  a  strong  desire  to  see  her  next  forthcoming 
work  announced  by  the  same  publishers  in  one  of 
their  new  series — her  "  Story  of  the  State  of  Ken- 
tucky." 


When  a  novel-writer  makes  a  girl  so  uncon- 
•ciously  bright  and  catching  in  the  very  first  chap- 
ter he  must  not  complain  if  the  reader  mixes  her 
up  in  a  plot  of  his  own. 

Romance  of  a  Letter.  By  Lowell  Choate.  356  pages.  12mo, 
Cloth,  $1.25. 

But  we  are  not  going  to  spoil  a  good  story  by 
letting  the  least  of  its  secrets  out. 


Whether  city  boys  go  to  the  country  or  country 
boys  go  to  the  city  wonderful  things  are  experi- 
enced. 

Boys  of  Gary  Farm.  By  Minna  Caroline  Smith.  313  pages. 
12mo,  cloth,  $1.25. 

The  story  lies  between  Chicago  and  Iowa. 
The  boys  get  mixed  up  variously.  It  is  a  Sunday 
School  book  to  this  extent :  The  boys  are  good 
boys  and  the  girls  are  good  girls ;  the  seeing  and 
doing  are  all  well  meant  if  they  are  a  trifle  ad- 
venturous here  and  there. 


The  Spare   Minute  series  of  anthologies  Is  en- 
riched by  one  from  Ruskin. 

Thoughts  of  Beauty  from  John  Buskin.    By  Rose  Porter. 
286  pages.    12mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

"  I  have  confined  myself  to  his  discoveries  on 
Nature,  Morals  and  Religion ;  gathering  for  your 
perusal  revelations  of  th5  blessed  wonders  of  sky 
and  cloud,  mountain  and  rock,  trees,  mosses,  and 
the  green  grass,  birds  of  the  air,  and  flowers,  and 
the  marvelous  coloring  all  these  display  which  in 
beauty  of  hue  and  delicacy  of  tinting  as  far  out- 
pass  the  works  of  man  as  the  heavens  are  higher 
than  the  earth." — From  The  Introduction. 


Quite  a  new  sort  of  history.  School  days  over, 
four  girl  friends  return  to  their  homes  and  life 
begins.  As  often  happens,  life  is  not  as  they 
picture  it.  What  it  was  for  the  four  and  how 
they  met  it  you  shah1  read  in  the  quiet  book. 

After  School  Days.  By  Christina  Goodwin.  198  pages. 
12iuo,  doth,  $1.00. 

It  is  a  comforting  fact  a  thousand  times  that 
nobody  knows,  to  be  sure  of  it,  what  is  good  for 
him  or  her.  Disappointments  are  often  shorn  of 
their  bitterness  by  the  remembrance  of  it.  Ofteu 
what  we  look  forward  to,  hope  for,  strive  for, 
make  ourselves  anxious  about,  turns  out  to  be  of 
no  particular  value ;  and  what  we  fear  and  strive 
against  turns  out  good  fortune.  Rarely  is  this 
practical  wisdom  made  so  sure  as  in  this  whole- 
some history  out  of  the  stuff  that  dreams  are 
made  of. 


A  practical  help  for  a  girl  to  surround  herself 
with  pleasant  things  without  much  shopping.  The 
book  is  mainly  filled  with  ways  to  exercise  taste 
on  waste  or  picked-up  things  for  use  with  an  eye 
to  decoration  as  well. 

For  a  Girl's  Room.  By  Some  Friends  of  the  Girls.  236 
pages.  12mo,  cloth,  $1.00. 

A  friendly  sort  of  a  book  to  fill  odd  minutes, 
whether  at  home  or  out,  for  herself  or  another. 
By  no  means  on  "  fancy-work"  —  not  all  work  — 
Chapter  XXI  is  How  to  Tame  Birds  and  XXV  is 
What  to  Do  hi  Emergencies. 


How  to  Cook  Well  is  promising  title.  The  au- 
thor, J.  Rosalie  Benton.  We  light  on  this  sen- 
tence on  breakfast :  "Yet  in  how  many  families 
is  it  the  custom  to  send  the  master  of  the  house 
to  his  daily  round  of  business  with  an  unsatisfied 
feeling  after  partaking  of  a  hurried  meal  alto- 
gether unpalatable !  "  That  is  still  more  promis- 
ing. There  are  400  pages  of  performance.  12mo, 
cloth,  $1.50. 


One  of  the  ways  to  get  some  notions  of  things 
Into  young  folks'  heads  without  any  work  on  their 
part  is  to  tell  them  stories  and  weave  in  tha 
knowledge. 

Another  way  is  to  make  a  book  of  such  stories. 
The  book  has  the  advantage  of  the  story-teller. 
It  can  be  full  of  pictures ;  and  one  can  be  more 
careful  in  making  a  book  than  in  talking.  If  his 
memory  slips  a  little,  he  can  stop  and  hunt  up  the 
facts. 

Story  Book  of  Science.  By  Lydia  Hoyt  Farmer.  Illus- 
trated. 330  pages.  12mo,  cloth,  $  1.50. 

There  are  twenty  different  stories  and  seventy-- 
five pictures.  A  surprising  number  of  bits  of 
knowledge  are  woven  and  pictured  in;  and  the 
book  is  as  light  and  easy  as  if  it  were  nonsense. 
'  There's  so  much  to  know  nowadays.  Children 
have  to  begin  before  they  know  it. 

Waifs  and  their  Authors  is  a  collection,  by  A. 
A.  Hopkins,  of  poetry  worthy  of  preservation, 
mainly  out  of  newspapers  and  by  living  writers 
not  yet  ranked  as  Poets  —  with  notes,  personal, 
biographical,  critical,  genial  always,  under  twenty 
one  names.  317  pages. 


A     000124973 


